THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


814 


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-  *  .  <  .  -i  ^  • 

»  -  i  to  ‘  .  .  V 


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The  Library 
of  the 

University  of  |„fn#)| 


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and  CotipundetL 


3 


SALAD  FOR  THE  SOLITARY 

.  if 

AND  THE  SOCIAL: 


BY  AN  EPICUEE. 


REDRESSED  AND  COMPOUNDED  WITH  SUNDRY  ADDITIONAL 
ESCULENTS,  SUCCULENTS,  AND  CONDIMENTS. 


ILLUSTRATED 

SGEttjj  Jiftg-tfrra  Origami  Jk  signs  bg  Eminent  gimerkan  giriists. 


ENGRAVED  BY 

BOBBETT  AND  MATTHEWS. 


“Oh,  herbaceous  treat! 

’Tvvould  tempt  the  dying  anchorite  to  eat; 

Back  to  the  world  he’d  turn  his  weary  soul. 

And  plunge  his  fingers  in  the  Salad-bowl!” — SYDNEY  SMITH. 


NEW  YOEK: 

DE  WITT  C.  LENT  AND  COMPANY. 


M.DCCC.LXXII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 
DEWITT  C.  LENT  A  COMPANY, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Stereotyped  at  the 

WOMEN’S  PRINTING  HOUSE, 
Corner  Avenue  A  and  Eighth  Street, 
New  York. 


4 


2  M/vl'l 


\  That  these  “  Salads ”  have  proved  seasonable  to  the  popu- 
lar  taste  and  fancy,  has  been  to  a  flattering  extent  demon¬ 
strated  by  a  circulation  in  this  country  and  in  England  of 

v-'S 

over  thirty  thousand  copies. 


V 


T 


i 

rA 


J 

1 


Now  that  they  have  been  re-dressed,  combined,  and  gar¬ 
nished  afresh — to  such  an  extent,  indeed,  as  almost  to  con¬ 
stitute  them  a  new  decoction — it  is  confidently  believed  they 
will  be  found  to  be  much  improved,  even  in  that  pungency 
and  flavor  that  originally  gained  for  them  such  a  general 
'  and  enthusiastic  welcome. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


b 

> 


d 


^5 


962323 


Mi 


THE  INGREDIENTS. 

 * 

PAGE 

Preliminary  Chat . 9 

Dietetics . 13 

The  Talkative  and  the  Taciturn . 37 

Citations  from  the  Cemeteries . 55 

A  Monologue  on  Matrimony . 79 

Curious  and  Costly  Books  -  105 

Something  about  Nothing . 125 

Sports  and  Pastimes . 135 

Book  Craft . -  -  151 

Last  Words  of  the  Illustrious  -------  189 

The  Mysteries  of  Medicine  -  -  - . 199 

Talk  about  Trees  - . 237 

The  Modern  Moloch . 249 

Infelicities  of  Authorcraft  -  275 

The  Toilette  and  its  Devotees . 291 

The  Selfish  and  the  Social . 325 

The  Cycle  of  the  Seasons . 343 

Pastimes  of  the  Pen . 369 

Pulpit  Peculiarities . 385 

The  Shrines  of  Genius . 407 

The  Humors  of  Law . -  -  -  -  -  423 

Facts  and  Fancies  about  Flowers . 441 

Larcenies  of  Literature . 461 

The  Mute  Creation . 479 

Sleep  and  its  Mysteries  -  501 

A  Puff  at  Parting  --. . 519 


c 


: 


THE  PLATES. 


The  Salad  . 

The  Bards . 

A  Baronial  Banquet . 

The  Glorious  Sirloin . 

The  Talkative  and  Taciturn.. 

The  Last  Word . 

Stoke-Pogeis  Church . 

The  Epitaph . 

Hymen’s  Procession . 

The  Pleasures  of  Matrimony.  . 

Missals  and  Books . 

The  Monk  in  his  Cell . 

The  Disappointed  Gourmand.  . . 

Minerva  Crowning  Genius . 

Falconry  in  the  Olden  Time  . . 

Chivalry  . 

Guttenberg’s  First  Proof . 

The  Early  Printer . 

Psyche . 

The  Dying  Hero . 

A  Case  for  the  Doctors . 

The  Alchemist . 

The  Giant  Tree  of  California 
The  Charter  Oak,  Runnymede. 

The  Misers . 

The  Secret  Treasure-Vault  . . 


ARTIST.  PAGE 

'Fredericks . (Frontispiece. ) 

“  (Vignette.) 


“  13 

“  36 

White  .  37 

Waud  . 54 

Fredericks .  55 

“  78 

“  79 


104 

105 
124 


Nast  .  125 

“  134 

Fredericks .  135 

Waud.  .  150 

Fredericks .  151 

“  .  188 

Waud  .  189 

“  198 

“  199 

Fredericks .  236 

Dixon  .  237 

“  248 

Waud  .  249 

Fredericks .  274 


VI 11 


THE  PLATES. 


Johnson  Reading  the  “Vicar” 

The  Death  of  Chatterton . 

The  Belle  of  the  Season . 

Study  of  the  Beautiful . 

The  Selfish  and  the  Social.  . . 

The  Club . 

The  “Rolling  Year” . 

The  Four  Seasons . 

Humors  of  the  Pen . . 

The  Pen  and  the  Sword . 

Dean  Swift  in  his  Pulpit . 

Caught  Napping . 

Shakespeare’s  Birthplace . 

Irving’s  Cottage,  Sunnyside  . . . 

The  Web  and  its  Victims . 

Grief  and  Sorrow . 

Gathering  Wild-Flowers . 

Young  Buds  and  Blossoms . 

The  Modern  Author . 

The  Death  of  Chatterton . 

The  Deputation . 

Dogs  of  Mount  St.  Bernard.  . . 

The  Somnambulist . 

Sleeping  Innocence . 

The  Smoking  Club . 

A  Puff  at  Parting . 


ARTIST.  PAGE 

Waud  .  275 

Fredericks .  290 

“  291 

“  324 

Eytynge  .  325 

“  342 

Fredericks .  343 


368 

369 


.  385 

u 

.  406 

Dixon  . 

.  407 

u 

.  422 

East  . 

.  423 

u 

.  440 

White  . 

.  441 

Eytynge  . 

.  460 

Waud  . 

.  461 

4  4 

.  478 

Stevens  . 

.  479 

Fredericks  . 

.  500 

44 

.  501 

Matthews  . 

.  518 

Fredericks . 

.  519 

u 

.  526 

PRELIMINARY  CHAT. 


ee  Excellent  Salads,”  as  Peter  said  to  Parson  Adams,  u  are  to  be 
found  in  almost  every  field ;  ”  and  these  we  have  garnered  from  the  fer¬ 
tile  “  fields  of  literature.”  Salad  has  this  superiority  over  every  other 
product  of  culinary  art,  to  wit, — it  is  suitable  to  all  seasons,  as  well 
as  all  sorts  of  persons — being  a  delectable  conglomerate  of  good 
things — meats,  vegetables,  acids  and  sweets,  oils,  sauces,  and  a  vari¬ 
ety  of  savory  condiments  too  numerous  to  detail.  Nor  are  we  de¬ 
terred  from  attempting  its  subtle  mixture,  by  the  Spanish  proverb 
which  insists  that  four  persons  are  indispensable  to  the  production  of 
a  good  salad  :  “  A  spendthrift  for  oil,  a  miser  for  vinegar,  a  counsel¬ 
lor  for  salt,  and  a  madman  to  stir  it  all  up  ”  ! 

Our  salad — a  consarcination  of  many  choice  things  for  the  literary 
palate — 

“Various,  that  the  mind 
Of  desultory  man,  studious  of  change 
And  pleased  with  novelty,  may  be  indulged,” 

will,  it  is  hoped,  felicitate  the  fancy,  flatter  the  taste,  and  prove  an 
antidote  to  ennui,  or  any  tendency  to  senescent  foreboding,  should 
ever  such  mental  malady  chance  to  haunt  the  seclusion  of  the  reader. 

Its  contents  are  not  only  various  in  kind ;  variety  may  also  be 
said  to  characterize  its  treatment,  which  has  been  attempted  some¬ 
what  philosophically,  poetically,  ethically,  satirically,  critically, 
hypothetically,  aesthetically,  hyperbolically,  psychologically,  metaphysi¬ 
cally,  humorously — and,  since  brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit — sententiously. 

Said  Sterne,  u  I  would  go  fifty  miles  on  foot  to  kiss  the  hand  of 
that  man  whose  generous  heart  will  give  up  the  reins  of  his  imagin- 


10 


PRELIMINARY  CHAT. 


ation  into  liis  author's  hands — be  pleased,  he  knows  not  why,  and 
cares  not  wherefore.” 

Southey  remarks  that  there  are  some  persons  who  are  willing  to  be 
pleased,  and  thankful  for  being  pleased,  without  thinking  it  necessary 
that  they  should  be  able  to  parse  their  pleasure,  like  a  lesson,  or  give 
a  rule  or  reason  why  they  are  pleased.  It  is  the  aim  and  design  of 
the  following  pages  to  put  the  reader  in  this  precise  condition  ;  believ¬ 
ing,  with  Sydney  Smith,  “  that  all  mankind  are  happier  for  having 
been  happy  ;  so  that,  if  you  make  them  happy  now,  you  make  them 
happy  twenty  years  henc^  by  the  memory  of  it.”  These  desultory 
chapters  are  the  fruitage  of  many  pleasant,  recreative  hours  spent  in 
the  highways  and  by-ways  of  literature.  Whenever  a  tempting 
thought -blossom  decoyed  us  by  its  alluring  beauty,  the  prize  was  cap¬ 
tured  to  enrich  and  grace  our  collection.  Such  gleanings  may  by 
some  be  deemed  trifles,  but 

“  Though  high  philosophy  despise  such  things, 

They  often  give  to  weightier  truths  their  wings ; 

Convey  a  moral,  or  correct  bad  taste, 

Though  aptly  called  light  learning,  still  not  waste. 

A  spark  of  nature’s  fire  will  not  despise, 

A  word  sometimes  makes  brighter,  lovelier  eyes ; 

A  flash  of  wit  disarms  old  care  of  wrath, 

A  happy  line  throws  beauty  in  our  path  ; 

Though  Sages  say  light  learning  wisdom  stifles, 

There  is  delight  in  stringing  useful  trifles.  ” 

If  trifles  are  facts,  they  cease  to  be  trivial ;  and,  in  these  stirring 
times,  when  our  allotted  leisure  is  becoming  so  infinitesimally  small, 
the  terse  and  the  epigrammatic  are  to  be  preferred  to  the  diffuse  and 
discursive,  in  our  reading.  In  grouping  together  the  ingredients  of 
this  salad,  it  has  been  the  aim  of  the  purveyor  to  mix  well  the  savory 
with  the  crisp,  the  spicy  with  the  solid,  and  thus  both  tempt  the  ap¬ 
petite,  and  appease  it.  It  would  be  great  temerity  to  appropriate  to 
our  humble  essay  the  witty  analysis  of  a  celebrated  author,  and  pre¬ 
tend  that  “  it  has  profundity  without  obscurity,  perspicuity  without 


PRELIMINARY  CHAT. 


11 


prolixity,  ornament  without  glare,  terseness  without  barrenness,  pene¬ 
tration  without  subtlety,  comprehensiveness  without  digression,  and 
a  great  number  of  other  things,  without  a  great  number  of  other 
things.”  Odd  in  its  plan  and  arrangement,  it  consists  of  many  odd 
sayings  and  selections,  from  odd  and  out-of-the-way  authors  ;  and  is 
fitted  for  odd  half-hours :  so  that  it  may  be  reckoned  an  odd  affair  alto¬ 
gether  ;  yet  oddities  provoke  sometimes  our  risibilities,  and  promote 
our  amusement.  Let  us  hope  this  literary  oddity  may  accomplish  a 
like  result.  In  fine,  our  design  is  to  combine  entertainment  with 
instruction,  mingling — 

“  Sayings  fetched  from  Sages  old. 

Laws  which  Holy  Writ  unfold, 

Worthy  to  be  graved  in  gold  ; 

Lighter  fancies  not  excluding, 

Blameless  wit,  with  nothing  rude  in, 

Sometimes  mildly  interluding.” 

For  we  hold  with  a  French  dramatist,  that  “  the  funds  of  wit  and 
merriment  are  not  yet  exhausted ;  that  the  wings'  of  fancy  are  not 
yet  clipped,  and  that  our  ancestors  have  not  said  and  sung  all  our 
good  things.” 

<£  Salads,”  according  to  a  modern  authority,  “  refresh  without  ex¬ 
citing,  and  make  people  younger.”  The  Salad  we  offer  ought  to 
have  this  effect,  now  that  it  is  re-dressed  and  compounded  anew  with 
sundry  additional  esculents,  succulents,  and  savory  condiments ;  and 
we  hope  everybody  will  bring  to  it — a  good  appetite.  Salads  are  not 
generally  suited  for  weak  digestions,  or  sickly  folk ;  yet  we  have  it 
certified  on  professional  authority  that  this  salad  is  adapted  for  the 
especial  cure  and  comfort  of  any  who  may  have  such  malady  as  that 
complained  of  by  the  author  of  Elia ,  who  thus  piteously  portrays 
his  sufferings  to  Bernard  Barton:  “  Do  vou  know  what  it  is  to  sue- 
cumb  under*an  insurmountable  day -mare — an  indisposition  to  do  any¬ 
thing,  or  to  be  anything — a  total  deadness  and  distaste — a  suspension 
of  vitality — an  indifference  to  locality,  a  numb,  soporific  good-for- 
nothingness — an  ossification  all  over,  an  oyster-like  indifference  to 


12 


PRELIMINARY  CHAT. 


passing  events — a  mind-stupor — a  brawny  defiance  to  the  needles  of 
a  thrashing-in  conscience — with  a  total  irresolution  to  submit  to 
water-gruel  processes  ?  ” 

After  sundry  erasures,  blottings,  corrections,  insertions,  enlarg- 
ings,  and  diminisliings,  with  interlineations,  we  have  at  length  com¬ 
pleted  the  work,  which,  whatever  may  be  alleged  against  it, 
shall  be  innocent  of  all  heresy  of  necromancy,  geomancy,  alchymy, 
exorcism,  phantasmagoria,  witchcraft,  metoposcopv,  sorcery,  or  thau- 
maturgy.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  it  will  prove  savory  to  the  palate 
of  a  goodly  number  of  good-natured  guests  ;  since  even  frugal  fare  is 
rendered  relishable  by  the  presence  of  smiling  faces  and  happy  hearts, 
while  the  most  costly  viands  often  lose  their  zest  where  these  are  not. 
Foremost  among  the  pleasures  of  the  table  are,  what  an  elegant  novel¬ 
ist  has  termed  “  those  felicitous  moods  in  which  our  animal  spirits 
search,  and  carry  up,  as  it  were,  to  the  surface,  our  intellectual  gifts 
and  acquisitions.”  The  invitation  to  this  repast  is,  therefore,  respect¬ 
fully  tendered  to  all  genial  spirits  who  will  bear  company  with  the 
host ;  and  being  unknown  to  the  great  world,  (i  I  will  tell  you, 
sirs,  by  way  of  private,  and  under  seal,  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  live 
here  obscure,  and  to  myself.” 


FREDERICK  SAUNDERS. 


DIETETICS. 


“May  it  please  you  to  dine  with  us?’’ — Shakspzare. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it,  sirs ;  the  art 
of  eating  and  drinking  took  its  rise  amid  the 
mists  of  the  remotest  antiquity ;  its  history  is  coeval  with  that 
of  the  race.  Unimpaired  with  the  lapse  of  ages,  this  art  is 
not  likely  ever  to  be  superseded,  or  become  obsolete.  It  is, 
moreover,  a  proclivity  not  peculiar  to  the  human  family,  for 
it  is  alike  shared  by  the  subordinate  orders  of  creation — ani- 


14 


DIETETICS. 


mals,  birds,  insects,  and  the  finny  tribes.  Some  creatures,  in¬ 
deed,  are  even  omnivorous,  but 

“  Man  is  a  carnivorous  production, 

And  must  have  meals  at  least  once  in  a  day ; 

He  cannot  live,  like  woodcocks,  upon  suction, 

But,  like  the  shark  and  tiger,  must  have  prey  !” 

It  is  not,  indeed,  with  our  physical,  as  with  our  mental  appe¬ 
tite  ;  for  the  former  is,  at  least,  an  intuition,  while  the  latter 
may  be,  and  not  unfrequently  is,  neglected  with  impunity. 
Again,  the  mind  may  be  fed  upon  fancy ;  but  the  matter-of- 
fact  stomach  imperiously  demands  something  more  substan¬ 
tial,  and  will  not  be  put  off  with  dreamy  idealizations. 

A  hungry  stomach  is  an  inexorable  creditor,  and  may  not 
be  trifled  with  ;  its  demands  are  not  to  be  evaded  or  ignored. 
It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  this  habit  of  eating  and  drink¬ 
ing  should  become  chronic,  and  cling  to  us  with  a  tenacity 
that  only  ceases  with  life  itself.  According  to  an  old  saw 
some  persons  are  said  ato  live  to  eat,”  while  others  “eat  to 
live.”  In  either  case,  then,  eating  and  living  go  together ; 
and  they  seem  to  co-exist  very  harmoniously.  To  any  one 
whose  mind,  or  rather  body,  is  in  a  receptive  mood,  what  sound 
falls  upon  the  ear  more  musically,  or  more  gratefully,  than 
that  of  the  dinner-bell  ? 

“  Of  all  appeals — although 
I  grant  the  power  of  pathos  and  of  gold, — 

. 

Of  beauty,  flattery,  threats — a  shilling — no 
Method ’s  more  sure  at  moments  to  take  hold 
Of  the  best  feelings  of  mankind,  which  grow 
More  tender,  as  we  every  day  behold — 

Than  that  all-softening,  overpowering  knell — 

The  tocsin  of  the  soul — the  dinner-bell !  ”  * 


*  Byron. 


DIETETICS. 


15 


The  author  of  Gentle  Life — a  good  English  authority — 
thus  portrays  John  Bull’s  penchant  for  the  good  things  of  the 
table :  “  Business  may  trouble  us,  politics  worry  us,  and  money 
matters  drive  us  mad  ;  but  we  all  eat,  and  eat  heartily.  If  we 
meet  to  hear  music  at  the  Crystal  Palace,  it  ends  in  a  feast. 
If  we  run  out  of  town,  we  must  finish  by  eating.  Do  we  wel¬ 
come  a  hero  ?  we  give  him  a  dinner !  Do  we  commence  a 
charity  ?  a  feast  inaugurates  it ;  and  the  golden  crumbs  that 
drop,  in  the  shape  of  subscription  guineas,  from  the  table  of 
Dives,  feed  Lazarus  and  his  family  for  many  a  long  day.’’ 
And,  to  adopt  the  remark  of  a  worthy  legal  and  literary  author¬ 
ity,*  whose  undoubted  Attic,  as  well  as  gustatory  taste,  seem 
to  add  emphasis  to  his  words — we  might  say :  Ci  To  be  of 
good  cheer,  partake  of  good  cheer.  A  great  destiny  demands 
a  generous  diet.  The  English  are  the  greatest  people  upon 
earth — because  thev  are  the  greatest  beef-eaters !  The  lazza- 
roni  of  Haples  are  the  most  degraded  of  men,  because  their 
food  is  the  poorest.  What  can  be  expected  of  a  people  that 
live  on  macaroni?”  So  much  for  John  Bull;  if  Brother 
Jonathan  is  not  his  equal  in  culinary  skill,  or  in  epicurean  taste, 
he  is  by  no  means  insensible  to  the  fascinations  of  the  well- 
spread  table ;  if  he  has  any  fault,  it  is  that  of  not  making  the 
most  of  his  opportunity. 

Our  worthy  friends  over  seas,  indeed,  seem  to  be  inspired  with 
the  conviction  that  nothing  of  importance  can  be  insured  suc¬ 
cess,  without  the  accessory  of  a  good  dinner.  Iso  wonder, 
therefore,  that  it  should  become  one  of  the  permanent  institu¬ 
tions  of  their  country ;  and  where,  may  we  not  ask,  is  the 
gustatory  art  better  illustrated  ? 

When  Coleridge,  who  loved,  not  only  a  good  dinner,  but 
also  a  good  listener,  was  on  one  occasion  dining  out,  he  noticed 


*  C.  N.  Bovee. 


16 


DIETETICS. 


among  the  company  a  person,  whose  silent  nods  and  continued 
reticence  passed  for  appreciative  wisdom,  until  a  trifle  dis¬ 
turbed  the  flattering  delusion.  The  servant  placed  a  dish  of 
apple-dumplings  on  the  table,  and  then  his  silent  friend  hurst 
out  with  the  remark — “  them’s  the  jockies  for  me  !  ”  Coleridge 
said,  aside,  “  I  wish  Spurzheim  could  have  examined  the  fel¬ 
low’s  head.” 

The  practice  of  indulging  the  pleasures  of  the  table  accom- 
jdishes  a  great  deal  of  good  in  our  social  life,  beside  satiat¬ 
ing  hunger  and  thirst.  It  also  promotes  the  courtesies  and 
amenities  of  home-life ;  for  a  person  is  on  much  better  terms 
with  himself,  and  his  neighbor,  after  he  has  partaken  of  a 
generous  repast,  than  before.  Diners  home,  and  diners  out, 
are  of  divers  kinds ;  some  regard  a  table  richly  garnished  with 
savory  viands  with  an  epicurean  relish,  others,  like  the  omniv¬ 
orous  gormandizer,  devour  their  food  with  the  rapacity  and 
impetuosity  of  beasts  of  prey.  If  a  dish  be  delectable  to  the 
palate,  why  not  prolong  its  enjoyment,  and  make  the  most  of 
it?  If  the  libation  be  nectar,  why  not  lingeringly  inhale  the 
aromatic  odor?  Yet  comparatively  how  few  amongst  us  re¬ 
gard  the  subject  in  a  scientific  light,  or  possess  the  refinement 
of  fancy,  or  educated  taste,  essential  to  the  luxurious  indul¬ 
gence  of  the  palate  of  classic  times  ;  we  moderns  preferring  to 
appease  simply  the  cravings  of  appetite,  by  devoting  the  more 
solid-  and  substantial  viands  to  the  digestive  process,  rather 
than  gratify  our  organs  of  taste  with  the  ingenious  combina¬ 
tions  of  which  food  is  susceptible  by  culinary  art. 

Some  horrible  monsters  have  achieved  an  unenviable  notori¬ 
ety  by  their  gluttonous  habits  ;  but  we  have  nothing  to  do  with 
such  voracious  persons ;  they  are  utter  strangers  to  good  taste 
as  well  as  decency.  There  is,  however,  a  droll  story  told  of  one 
inordinate  eater — which  we  are  tempted  to  repeat,  though  not 
to  indorse.  When  Charles  Gustavus,  King  of  Sweden,  was 


DIETETICS. 


17 


besieging  Prague,  a  boor  of  a  most  extraordinary  visage  de¬ 
sired  admittance  to  his  tent ;  and  being  allowed  to  enter,  he 
offered  by  way  of  amusement  to  devour  a  large  hog  in  his 
presence.  The  old  general  Koenigsmark,  who  stood  by  the 
king’s  side,  hinted  to  his  royal  master  that  the  peasant  ought 
to  be  burnt  as  a  sorcerer.  “  Sir,”  said  the  fellow,  irritated  at 
the  remark,  “  if  your  majesty  will  but  make  that  old  gentleman 
take  off  his  sword  and  spurs,  I  will  eat  him  before  I  begin  the 
pig.”  General  Koenigsmark,  who,  at  the  head  of  a  body  of 
Swedes,  performed  wonders  against  the  Austrians,  could  not 
stand  this  proposal,  especially  as  it  was  accompanied  by  a  most 
hideous  expansion  of  the  jaws  and  mouth.  "Without  uttering  a 
word,  the  veteran  turned  pale,  and  impetuously  rushed  out  of 
the  tent,  making  with  all  speed  for  his  quarters. 

Peter  the  Great  was  a  gourmand  of  the  first  magnitude. 
While  in  England,  on  his  return  from  a  visit  to  Portsmouth, 
the  Czar  and  his  party,  twenty-one  in  number,  stopped  at 
Godaiming,  where  they  ate — at  breakfast,  half  a  sheep,  a 
quarter  of  lamb,  ten  pullets,  twelve  chickens,  seven  dozen  of 
eggs,  and  salad  in  proportion,  and  drank  three  quarts  of  brandy 
and  six  quarts  of  mulled  wine :  at  dinner,  five  ribs  of  beef, 
weight  three  stone ;  one  sheep,  fifty-six  pounds ;  three  quarters 
of  lamb ;  a  shoulder  and  loin  of  veal  boiled ;  eight  pullets, 
eight  rabbits ;  two  dozen  and  a  half  of  sack,  and  one  dozen  of 
claret.  This  bill  of  fare  is  preserved  in  Ballard’s  Collection, 
in  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford. 

Theodore  Hook,  in  his  Gilbert  Gurney ,  describes  an  odd 
dinner  of  which  he  partook,  in  the  West  of  England.  The 
soup  was  a  nice  sort  of  veal  broth  ;  at  the  bottom  of  the  table 
was  a  roast  loin  of  veal  /  at  the  top,  half  a  calf’s  head ;  there 
were  four  entrees — veal  patties,  veal  collops,  calf’s  brains,  and 
calf’s  tongue.  One  of  the  guests,  who  hated  veal,  apparently 

waited  for  the  second  course,  when  the  fair  hostess  apolo- 
2 


18 


DIETETICS. 


gized:  “We  have  no  second  course;  the  fact  is,  we  killed  a 
calf  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  we  are  such  prudent  mana¬ 
gers,  that  we  make  a  point  of  eating  it  up  while  it  is  good,  and 
nice  and  fresh,  before  we  begin  upon  anything  else.” 

Smollett’s  house  was  often  the  scene  of  literary  festive  gath¬ 
erings,  his  coteries  comprising  most  of  the  distinguished  men 
of  letters  of  his  day ;  epicures  were  they,  in  a  double  sense. 
Dr.  Johnson,  who  was  no  doubtful  authority  on  the  subject, 
styled  a  tavern  the  throne  of  human  felicity ;  but  it  must  be 
remembered,  he  was  accustomed  to  meet  congenial  spirits  at 
his  clubs,  as  well  as  his  favorite  dishes. 

The  clubs  of  London  had  their  prototypes  in  the  symposia 
of  the  Greeks,  and  the  convivia  of  the  Homans.  These  associa¬ 
tions  were  revived  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  and  were  in 
the  zenith  of  their  glory  in  the  days  of  Johnson,  Addison, 
Steele,  and  Garrick.  The  Mermaid  was  the  earliest  on  record 
in  London.  Baleigli,  previously  to  his  unfortunate  engage¬ 
ment  with  Cobham,  had  instituted  a  meeting  of  the  beaux 
esprit s  at  the  Mermaid,  in  Friday  street.  This  club  combined 
more  talent  and  genius,  perhaps,  than  ever  met  together  before, 
or  since — Shakspeare,  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  Selden,  Cotton, 
Carew,  and  many  other  literary  notabilities.  Here,  in  the  full 
flow  and  confidence  of  friendship,  the  lively  and  interesting 
“  wit  combats  ”  took  place  between  Shakspeare  and  Jonson, 
which  Beaumont  thus  refers  to : 

“  What  things  have  we  seen 
Done  at  the  Mermaid  !  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 

As  if  that  every  one  from  whom  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  into  a  jest.” 


The  Kit-Kat  Club ,  one  of  the  most  renowned  of  the  clubs, 
was  originated  in  the  year  1700,  and  was  the  rendezvous  of  the 


DIETETICS. 


19 


nobility  as  well  as  the  dilettanti  and  cognoscenti.  Walpole 
remarks  that  its  members  included  not  only  the  wits  of  the 
time  but  the  patriots  that  saved  Britain.  Although  in  respect 
of  the  rank  of  its  members  it  surpassed  all  similar  institutions, 
it  was  very  humble  in  its  origin.  But  we  must  not  be  tempted 
to  dilate,  as  we  could  wish,  upon  club-life  among  the  learned  of 
old  times;  and  the  reader  possibly  may  be  familiar  with  its 
history. 

Although  the  transition  is  somewhat  startling,  yet  for  the 
sake  of  the  contrast  let  us  turn  from  the  dainties  of  the  Eng¬ 
lish  nobility  to  some  of  the  uncivilized  feeding  habits  of  bar¬ 
barous  nations. 

The  Tartars  pull  a  man  by  the  ear  to  press  himo  to  drink, 
and  they  continue  this  flattering  torment  till  he  opens  his 
mouth,  when  they  clap  their  hands  and  dance  before  him 
wdth  great  glee.  xso  custom  is,  perhaps,  more  amusingly 
absurd  than  that  resorted  to  by  the  Kamtchatkan  when  he 
wishes  to  make  a  man  his  friend.  lie  first  invites  him  to 
eat ;  the  host  and  his  guest  then  strip  themselves,  in  a  cabin, 
which  is  heated  to  an  uncommon  degree.  While  the  visitor 
is  devouring  his  food,  the  other  busily  occupies  himself  with 
stirring  the  fire  to  produce  an  increased  intensity  of  heat.  The 
poor  guest  is  doomed  to  undergo  this  scorching  ordeal,  till  nature 
absolutely  revolts,  and  endurance  can  no  longer  abide  the  test, 
when  they  compound !  In  some  instances,  it  is  said,  the  poor 
victim  of  this  ardent  test  of  friendship  positively  becomes  a 
martyr  to  the  ordeal.  If  he  survive,  the  stranger  has,  however, 
the  right  of  retaliation  allowed  him;  and  he  usually  requites 
the  kindness  of*  his  host  with  an  ardor  and  zeal,  if  possible, 
increased  in  its  intensity,  by  his  own  recent  involuntary  suf¬ 
ferings. 

The  Maldivian  islanders  eat  alone ;  a  habit  which  probably 
arises  from  the  primitive  and  uncivilized  custom  of  barbarous 


20 


DIETETICS. 


tribes,  who  fear  lest  others  who  may  suffer  from  as  keen  an 
appetite  as  themselves,  and  who  have  more  strength  of  consti¬ 
tution,  should  come  and  ravish  the  whole  meal ! 

The  Laplanders  live  upon  the  reindeer  and  bear,  their  ordi¬ 
nary  libation  being  whale-oil,  or  water  in  which  juniper  berries 
have  been  infused.  It  is  a  wrell-known  climatic  peculiarity  of 
countries  which  lie  within  or  near  the  arctic  circle,  that  the  in¬ 
habitants  require  four  or  five  times  as  much  food  as  those  of 
temperate  climates.  At  Nova  Zembla,  from  the  greater  activ¬ 
ity  and  vigor  of  the  digestive  organs,  Europeans  are  obliged 
to  follow  the  example  of  the  natives,  by  drinking  the  blood  of 
the  reindeer,  and  eating  raw  flesh ;  the  intense  cold  removing 
that  disgust  which  such  doses  would  naturally  inspire  among 
other  people.  To  inhabitants  of  warm  countries,  temperance, 
or  even  occasional  abstinence,  is  therefore  no  very  difficult 
virtue ;  while  northern  nations,  on  the  contrary,  are  necessarily 
voracious  to  keep  up  the  requisite  quantum  of  caloric. 

An  account  of  a  Chinese  entertainment  is  thus  given  by 
Captain  Laplace,  who  attended  one  of  their  feasts :  “  The  first 
course  wTas  laid  out  in  a  great  number  of  saucers,  and  consisted 
of  various  relishes  in  a  cold  state,  among  which  were  salted 
earth-worms, '  prepared  and  dried,  but  so  cut  up  that  I  for¬ 
tunately  did  not  know  what  they  were  until  I  had  swallowed 
them ;  smoked  fish  and  ham,  both  of  them  cut  up  into  ex¬ 
tremely  small  slices.”  John  Chinaman,  since  his  advent  to  our 
Pacific  coast,  has,  doubtless,  improved  his  taste  somewhat,  and 
instead  of  cats,  rats,  and  dogs  being  deemed,  as  heretofore,  his 
daintiest  rarities,  he  is  educating  his  palate  for  pork  and  beans, 
and  such  like  Western  varieties.  The  Caffres,  the  Bushmen, 
the  cannibals,  and  other  detestable  creatures,  are  all  too  dis¬ 
agreeable  to  talk  about.  Our  neighbors  of  Mexico  are  said  to 
be,  like  the  French,  very  partial  to  frogs ;  the  banana,  however, 
forms  a  principal  article  of  food  with  them,  also  the  cassava, 


DIETETICS. 


21 


which  is  extremely  nutritive ;  but  the  flesh  of  monkeys  is  with 
the  Mexicans,  as  well  as  the  inhabitants  of  some  of  the  West 
India  islands,  often  used,  since  they  have  a  good  supply  of  that 
genus  in  their  forests.  This  penchant  seems  but  one  remove 
from  absolute  cannibalism,  since,  when  this  animal  is  divested 
of  his  skin,  the  flesh  precisely  resembles  that  of  a  human  being. 

We  have  not  yet  finished  our  catalogue  of  these  rarer  deli¬ 
cacies  of  mankind.  There  are  the  geopliagists,  or  earth-eaters, 
and  such  as  subsist  on  the  bark  of  trees.  Incredible  as  it  may 
seem,  the  digestive  functions  of  man,-  in  his  rudest  state,  are 
even  capable  of  deriving  a  species  of  nutriment  from  the  soil. 
In  Is  gw  Guinea,  and  even  in  some  of  our  own  Southern  States, 
these  earth-eaters  are  to  be  found.  We  learn  from  Humboldt 
that  the  Ottomacjues,  on  the  banks  of  the  Meta  and  the  Orinoco, 
feed  on  a  fat,  unctuous  earth,  tinged  with  a  little  oxide  of  iron. 
They  collect  this  clay  very  carefully,  distinguishing  it  by  the 
taste :  tliev  knead  it  into  balls  of  four  or  five  inches  in  diam- 

*  %J 

eter,  which  they  bake  slightly  before  a  slow  fire.  These  balls 
are  soaked  in  water  when  about  to  be  used,  and  each  individual 
eats  about  a  pound  of  the  material  every  day. 

When  an  English  traveller  expressed  his  surprise  and  disgust 
at  some  Arabs  eating  insects,  the  men  retorted,  that  it  was  poor 
affectation  in  a  person  who  would  swallow  raw  oysters. 

Eecent  experiments  in  Germany  have  proved  that  the  wood 
of  various  trees  may  be  converted  into  a  nutritious  substance. 
The  fibres  of  the  birch,  fir,  lime,  and  elm,  when  dried,  ground, 
and  sifted,  so  as  to  form  a  powder,  like  coarse  flour,  are  not  only 
capable  of  affording  wholesome  nourishment,  but  with  a  little 
culinary  skill  constitute  very  palatable  articles  of  food.  Cold 
water  being  poured  on  this  wood  flour,  inclosed  in  a  fine  linen 
bag,  it  becomes  quite  milky. 

Soyer*  remarks  to  the  effect  that  a  serious  interest  is 


*  Pantropheon. 


22 


DIETETICS. 


imparted  to  the  diet  of  a  people,  if  it  be  true  (as  he  affirms 
it  is),  that  the  manners,  idiosyncrasies,  and  proclivities  of 
a  people  are  modified  to  a  certain  extent  by  the  nature  of 
their  diet.  This  view  is  likewise  adopted  by  Buckle.  If 
this  could  be  proved,  character  might  be  determined  by  con¬ 
sulting  the  cook.  So  that  he  who  has  a  prevailing  preference 
for  mutton,  would  of  course,  in  time,  partake  of  a  sheepish  ex¬ 
pression  ;  while  another,  with  a  persistent  predilection  for  pork, 
would  become  hoggish  in  his  manners :  but  it  would  not  be 
safe,  perhaps,  to  pursue  the  analogy  any  farther.  Speaking  of 
mutton,  suggests  the  remark  that  a  sheep  when  dead  becomes 
mutton — all  except  the  head — for  who  ever  inquired  for  a 
mutton-head  ;  while  the  accepted  phrase,  shoulder  of  mutton, 
is  intelligible  to  all.  There  is  a  droll  incident  related  of  a 

O  t 

French  preacher,  who  having  but  partially  acquired  a  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  English  tongue,  on  one  occasion,  in  the  course  of 
his  sermon,  addressed  his  flock  by  the  endearing  epithet — “  My 
dear  mutton  !  ”  The  reader  will  pardon  the  recital  of  another 
triviality  :  A  person  once  asked  his  guest  if  he  should  cut  the 
loin  of  mutton  saddle-wise  f  “  -No,”  replied  the  latter,  “  by 
all  means  cut  it  bridle-wise ,  for  then  I  may  chance  to  get  a  bit 
in  my  mouth.”  The  mention  of  mutton  at  once  suggests  its 
affinity,  lamb,  and  its  accessory,  mint  sauce  /  and  this,  again, 
the  following  little  pleasantry,  given  in  a  recent  literary  jour¬ 
nal.*  AY  lien  Lord  Minto  was  in  the  Ministry,  a  lady  of  rank, 
who  was  always  very  inquisitive  after  political  news,  inquired 
after  the  news  of  the  day.  The  answer  was  that  “  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Lamb  meets  Lord  Minto  very  often  at  dinner,  and  some¬ 
thing  must  be  concocting  ”  ! 

Leaving  mutton,  however,  for  the  present,  at  any  rate, 
we  might  just  name  some  of  the  other  varieties,  for  exam- 


i 


*  “  Notes  and  Queries.” 


DIETETICS. 


23 


pie,  the  flesh  of  the  calf,  which  we  designate  veal;  that  of 
the  hog,  bacon  and  ham ,  and  the  sports  of  the  chase,  game. 
Speaking  of  ham ,  recalls  an  old  conundrum  :  Do  you  ask 
why  no  man  should  starve,  even  on  the  deserts  of  Arabia  ? 
Because  of  the  sand  which  is  there.  And  do  you  further  in¬ 
quire  how  came  the  sand  which  is  there  ?  Know  that  the  tribe 
of  Ham  was  there  bred  and  mustered!  Passing  from  solid 
meats  to  dessert,  we  might  just  refer  to  a  favorite  fruit  which 
changes  its  name  still  oftener  than  the  above-named  meats. 
When  plucked  from  the  vine,  we  call  the-  fruit  grapes,  when 
dried,  raisins ,  when  in  a  pudding, plums,  while  the  juice  we 
extract  from  them  becomes  wine. 

The  Homans  regarded  their  supper  as  their  chief  meal,  as 
we  do  the  dinner  ;  it  was  styled  triclinium^  from  three  couches 
on  which  the  guests  reclined.  The  guests  commonly  were  ac¬ 
customed  to  recline  upon  the  couch,  leaning  upon  the  left 
elbow.  Their  banquets  were  remarkable  for  their  profusion 
and  costliness. 

Having  exhausted  their  invention  in  the  confection  of  stim- 
ulants  for  the  palate,  they  called  in  another  sense  to  their  aid ; 
and  by  the  delicate  application  of  odors  and  richly-distilled 
perfumes,  these  refined  voluptuaries  aroused  the  fainting  appe¬ 
tite,  and  added  a  more  exquisite  and  ethereal  enjoyment  to  the 
grosser  pleasures  of  the  board. 

Among  the  Homans,  flowers  formed  a  very  essential  article 
in  their  festal  preparations ;  and  it  is  the  opinion  of  Bacchius, 
that  at  their  desserts  the  number  of  flowers  far  exceeded 
that  of  fruits.  When  Kero,  whose  memory  is  so  inodorous, 
supped  in  his  gulden  house,  a  mingled  shower  of  flowers  and 
odorous  essences  fell  upon  him.  Kor  was  it  entirely  as  an 
object  of  luxury  that  the  ancients  made  use  of  flowers;  they 
were  considered  to  possess  sanative  and  medicinal  qualities. 

In  point  of  profusion,  .nothing  was  equal  to  that  which 


24 


DIETETICS. 


reigned  at  the  banquet  of  Ahasuerus,  who  “  regaled,  during  six 
months,  all  the  princes  and  governors  of  his  state,  and  kept 
open  house  for  seven  entire  days,  for  all  the  people  of  the 
great  town  of  Suza.” 

The  luxuries  of  the  table  commenced  about  the  period  of 
tiie  battle  of  Actium,  and  continued  to  the  reign  of  Galba. 
Their  delicacies  consisted  of  peacocks,  cranes,  nightingales,  veni¬ 
son,  wild  and  tame  fowls ;  they  were  also  fond  of  fish.  The 
reigning  taste  was  for  a  profusion  of  provisions ;  whole  wild 
boars  were  served  up,  filled  with  various  small  animals  and 
birds  of  different  kinds.  The  dish  was  called  the  Trojan 
horse,  in  allusion  to  the  horse  filled  with  soldiers.  Fowls  and 
game  of  all  sorts  were  served  up  in  pyramids,  piled  up  in 
dishes  as  broad  as  modern  tables.  Lucullus  had  a  particular 
name  for  each  apartment,  with  its  appropriate  table,  and  a  cer¬ 
tain  scale  of  expense  attached  to  each. 

He  was  equally  sumptuous  in  his  wardrobe. 

A  Homan  praetor,  who  was  to  give  games  to  the  public,  re¬ 
quested  to  borrow  one  hundred  purple  robes  for  the  actors. 
Lucullus  replied  that  he  could  lend  him  two  hundred  if  he 
wanted  them. 

Salads  were  among  the  table-delicacies  of  the  ancients  as 
well  as  the  moderns — the  lactuca ,  or  lettuce,  being  one  of  the 
most  common  of  vegetables.  Athenaeus  refers  to  its  use  for 
salad,  and  its  accompanying  condiments. 

8oyer  remarks  that  from  time  immemorial  the  lettuce  has 
occupied  a  most  distinguished  place  in  the  kitchen-garden. 
The  Hebrews  ate  it  without  preparation,  with  the  Paschal  lamb. 
The  opulent  Greeks  were  very  fond  of  the  lettuces  of  Smyrna, 
which  appeared  on  their  tables  at  the  end  of  a  repast:  the 
Homans,  who  at  first  imitated  them,  decided  under  Domitian 
that  this  favorite  dish  should  be  served  in  the  first  course  with 
eggs,  to  excite  their  appetites.  The  lettuce  possesses  a  narcotic 


DIETETICS. 


25 


virtue,  not  unnoticed  by  the  ancient  physicians.  Galen,  in  his 
old  age,  mentions  that  he  had  not  found  a  better  remedy 
against  the  wakefulness  he  was  troubled  with. 

The  author  of  Sparrow  grass  Papers  tells  a  good  story 
about  a  salad  once  concocted,  as  a  test  of  skill,  by  an  artiste  in 
Philadelphia.  Some  gentlemen  of  taste  were  assembled  to 
regale  their  palates  on  the  occasion,  and  ostensibly  all  seemed 
to  pass  off  with  success.  The  next  morning  the  host,  whose 
suspicions  were  excited,  inquired  of  his  domestic  what  had  be¬ 
come  of  a  bottle  of  castor  oil  which  he  gave  her  to  put  away. 
“  Sure,  you  said  it  was  castor  oil,”  she  replied,  “  and,  ov  coorse, 
I  put  it  in  the  castor.”  “  I  thought  so,”  added  our  host. 

“  Salad,”  said  Jack  Cade  (in  Shalespeare ),  “  was  born  to  do 
me  good.”  Who  will  dispute  such  an  authority  ?  For  instance, 
for  a  fit  of  indigestion,  or  dyspepsia,  what  better  specific  could 
be  devised  than  the  salad  offered  herewith  ?  Or  for  a  fit  of 
mental  abstraction,  what  remedy  more  readily  would  restore 
the  party  to  himself  ?  Xot  merely  is  it  possessed  of  medicinal 
virtues,  it  is  also  appetizing,  invigorating,  and  healthful,  well- 
seasoned,  and  equally  suited  to  the  solitary  as  the  social. 

In  Saxon  and  mediaeval  times  the  feudal  barons  of  “Merrie 
England  ”  were  as  renowned  for  the  splendor  of  their  lavish 
hospitality  as  for  their  military  prowess  and  chivalry.  Many 
a  proud  castle-home,  or  grand  ancestral  hall,  resounded  with 
the  voice  of  revelry  and  music — when  the  clash  of  arms  and 
the  fierce  tumult  of  mortal  strife  had,  for  a  time,  become 
hushed.  Such  a  scene  of  festive  banqueting,  presided  over 
by  some  lordly  chieftain,  with  his  chivalric  retainers,  must 
have  been  an  inspiring  spectacle : 

“  For  in  the  lofty  arched  hall 
TYas  spread  the  gorgeous  festival,” 

while  stately  dames  of  dazzling  beauty  mingled  with  groups 


26 


DIETETICS. 


of  mailed  knights  and  squires,  and  liveried  warriors  and  vas¬ 
sals,  combined  to  present  a  coup  d'oail  of  baronial  magnificence 
and  splendor  rarely  surpassed. 

Queen  Elizabeth  and  her  maids-in-waiting  exhibited  much 
bravery  in  the  service  of  the  breakfast  and  dinner.  Beef 
and  beer  were  the  staple  of  the  table  then,  and  both  have 
maintained  their  preferred  claims  with  John  Bull  even  down 
to  the  present  time,  though  not  at  the  same  meal.  James 
I.,  who  fulminated  so  fiercely  against  Tobacco,  was  rather 
prodigal  in  his  gastronomic  indulgences,  for  his  household  ex¬ 
penditure  is  estimated  at  £100,000,  double  the  amount  required 
for  the  purpose  by  his  predecessor,  Elizabeth.  There  was 
more  temperance  observed  during  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  and 
Cromwell’s  table  was  remarkable  for  its  simplicity. 

The  magnificent  fete  given  by  the  Prince  Regent,  at  Carl¬ 
ton  House,  in  1811,  was  the  only  experiment  ever  made  at  any 
court  of  Europe  to  give  a  supper  to  2000  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry.  The  largest  entertainment  at  the  most  brilliant  period 
of  the  French  monarchy,  was  that  given  by  the  Prince  of 
Conde  to  the  King  of  Sweden,  at  Chantilly,  when  the  covers 
only  amounted  to  400 ;  while,  at  the  fete  given  by  the  Prince 
Regent,  covers  were  laid  for  400  in  the  palace,  and  for  1600 
more  in  pavilions,  in  the  garden.  There  was  exhibited  lavish 
expenditure  on  this  occasion ;  and  also  the  puerile  taste  of  a 
stream,  with  gold  and  silver  fish,  flowing  down  the  centre  of  the 
table.  Simplicity  of  taste  distinguishes  the  royal  table  at  Wind¬ 
sor  Castle,  except  on  state  occasions,  when  a  banquet  is  given; 
then  it  is  a  scene  of  sumptuous  splendor.* 

*  The  royal  plate  at  Windsor  is  kept  in  one  tolerably  sized  room  and  an  ad¬ 
joining  closet,  and  valued  at  l,7o0,000Z.  sterling  !  There  is  one  gold  service, 
formed  by  George  IV.,  to  dine  130  guests;  some  pieces  were  taken  from  the 
Spanish  Armada,  some  brought  from  India,  Burmah,  China,  &c.  One  vessel 
belonged  to  Charles  XII.,  of  Sweden,  and  another  to  the  King  of  Ava;  a  pea- 


DIETETICS. 


27 


Xotable  personages  have  been,  like  the  uncelebrated,  remark¬ 
able  for  their  fondness  for  particular  articles  of  diet.  Let  us 
name  a  few  instances  :  Luther,  “  the  solitary  monk  that  shook 
the  world,”  laid  a  good  foundation  for  the  rough  pioneer-work 
he  had  to  do,  by  a  most  substantial  supply  of  fibrous  meats, 
which  he  lubricated  with  Bliine  wine  and  Forgan  beer,  the 
lager-bier  of  his  day — of  which  he  did  not  stint  himself.  But 
then,  it  must  be  remembered  that  he  had  a  redoubtable  physique 
to  sustain,  and  a  wonderful  amount  of  work  to  achieve.  Charles 
XII.,  of  Sweden,  was  as  remarkable  for  his  abstemiousness  ;  he 
was  content  with,  indeed,  it  is  said  he  preferred,  above  all  the 
attractions  of  the  banquet,  plain  bread  and  butter.  Xapoleon, 
also,  was  no  gourmand,  but,  like  Yoltaire,  was  excessively  fond 
of  coffee,  as  Boswell  informs  us  the  great  lexicographer  was 
of  Mrs.  Thrall’s  cups  of  tea.  The  Emperor  Frederick  of  Ger¬ 
many,  and  Maximilian  II.,  were  alike  so  inordinately  fond  of 
melons,  that  they  both  became  ultimately  victims  to  the  pas¬ 
sion.  Flenry  IY.  of  France,  like  not  a  few  sovereigns  of  this 
western  world,  indulged  largely  in  oysters.  The  wits  and  wor¬ 
thies  of  Shalcsjpeard  s  Merrie  England  made  themselves  glo¬ 
rious  over  their  spiced  sack,  and  other  fragrant  potations,  to 
which  some  of  the  Elizabethan  poets  ascribed  many  of  their 
most  inspired  utterances. 

Franklin  at  one  time  contemplated  practising  abstinence 
from  animal  food.  “I  hesitated  some  time,”  says  he,  “be¬ 
tween  principle  and  inclination,  till  at  last  recollecting  that, 

cock  of  precious  stones,  valued  at  30,000Z. ;  and  a  tiger’s  head  (Tippoo’s  foot¬ 
stool),  with  a  solid»ingot  of  gold  for  his  tongue,  and  crystal  teeth  ;  numerous 
and  splendidly  ornamented  gold  shields,  one  made  from  snuff-boxes,  value 
8000  guineas  ;  and  thirty  dozen  of  plates,  which  cost  26  guineas  each  plate. 
The  magnificent  silver  wine-cooler,  made  by  Rundell  and  Bridge  for  George 
IV. ,  is  enclosed  with  plate-glass :  its  superb  chasing  and  other  ornamental 
work  occupied  two  years,  and  two  full-grown  persons  may  sit  in  it  without 
inconvenience. 


28 


DIETETICS. 


when  a  cod  had  been  opened,  some  small  lish  were  found  in  it, 
I  said  to  myself,  if  you  eat  one  another,  I  see  no  reason  why 
we  may  not  eat  yon.  I  accordingly  dined  on  the  cod  with  no 
small  degree  of  pleasure,  and  have  since  continued  to  eat  like 
the  rest  of  mankind,  returning  only  occasionally  to  my  vege¬ 
table  plan.  How  convenient  does  it  prove  to  be  a  rational 
animal ,  that  knows  how  to  find  or  invent  a  plausible  pretext 
for  whatever  it  has  an  inclination  to  do ! 55 

When  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  writing  his  Principia ,  he 
lived  on  a  scanty  allowance  of  bread  and  water,  and  vegetable 
diet. 

In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  Dr.  Parr  confesses  his  love  of  “hot 
boiled  lobsters,  with  a  profusion  of  shrimp-sauce.”  Pope,  who 
was  an  epicure,  would  lie  in  bed  for  days  at  Lord  Poling- 
broke’s  unless  he  were  told  that  there  were  stewed  lampreys 
for  dinner,  when  he  arose  instantly  and  came  dowm  to  table. 
A  gentleman  treated  Dr.  Johnson  to  new  honey  and  clouted 
cream,  of  which  he  ate  so  largely  that  his  entertainer  became 
alarmed.  All  his  lifetime  Dr.  Johnson  had  a  voracious  attach¬ 
ment  for  a  leg  of  mutton.  Dryden,  writing  to  a  lady,  declining 
her  invitation  to  a  handsome  supper,  says :  “  If  beggars  might 
be  choosers,  a  chine  of  honest  bacon  would  please  my  appetite 
more  than  all  the  marrow- puddings,  for  I  like  them  better 
plain,  having  a  very  vulgar  stomach.”  Poets  do  not,  you  see, 
always  feed  upon  fancy. 

Dr.  Fordyce  contended  that  as  one  meal  a  day  was  enough 
for  a  lion,  it  ought  to  suffice  for  a  man.  Accordingly,  for 
more  than  twenty  years,  the  Doctor  used  to  eat  only  a  dinner 
in  the  whole  course  of  the  day.  This  solitary  meal  lie  took 
regularly  at  four  o’clock,  at  Dolly’s  Chop  House.  A  pound  and 
a  half  of  rump  steak,  half  a  broiled  chicken,  a  plate  of  fish,  a 
bottle  of  port,  a  quarter  of  a  pint  of  brandy,  and  a  tankard  of 
strong  ale,  satisfied  the  doctor’s  moderate  wants  till  four  o’clock 


DIETETICS. 


29 


next  clay,  and  regularly  engaged  one  hour  and  a  half  of  his 
time.  Dinner  over,  he  returned  to  his  home  in  Essex  street, 
Strand,  to  deliver  his  six  o’clock  lecture  on  anatomy  and  chem¬ 
istry. 

Shelley,  who  had  an  ineffable  contempt  for  all  the  sensuali¬ 
ties  of  the  table,  and,  like  iSewton,  used  sometimes  to  inquire 
if  he  had  dined,  was  of  opinion  that  abstinence  from  animal 
food  subtilizes  and  clears  the  intellectual  faculties.  To  coun¬ 
teract  a  tendency  to  corpulency,  Lord  Byron,  at  one  period, 
dined  four  days  in  the  week  on  fish  and  yegetables,  and  eyen 
stinted  himself  to  a  pint  of  claret.  If  temperate  in  eating,  it 
does  not  appear  that  he  was  equally  conscientious  with  respect 
to  his  libations — especially  in  that  beverage  styled  gin-and- 
water,  to  the  inspiration  of  which  some  of  his  lucubrations  owe 
their  origin.  Burns — the  glowing  but  erratic  Burns — was,  as 
is  too  well  known,  a  wretched  instance  of  the  baneful  effects 
of  intemperance. 

Scott  used  to  say,  that  “  greatness  of  any  kind  has  no  greater 
foe  than  a  habit  of  drinking.”  This  striking  and  just  remark 
is,  however,  only  an  abridgment  of  one  by  Swift,  who  pro¬ 
nounces  temperance  to  be  “  a  necessary  virtue  for  great  men ; 
since  it  is  the  parent  of  that  ease  and  liberty  which  are  neces¬ 
sary  for  the  improvement  of  the  mind,  and  which  philosophy 
allows  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  felicities  of  life.”  “  If  you 
wish  to  keep  mind  clear  and  body  healthy,  abstain  from  fer¬ 
mented  liquors,”  is  the  sage  counsel  of  Sydney  Smith. 

Charles  Lamb  delighted  in  roast  pig  and  a  draught  of  porter 
out  of  the  pewter  pot,  and  he  would  press  his  friends,  even 
great  men  and  bashful  ladies,  to  taste  the  genuine  article,  fresh 
drawn  at  the  bar  of  his  favorite  little  inn  at  Edmonton.  Cole¬ 
ridge  observes,  that  “some  men  are  like  musical  glasses — to 
produce  their  finest  tones,  you  must  keep  them  wet.”  Addi¬ 
son’s  recourse  to  the  bottle  as  a  cure  for  his  taciturnity,  finally 


30 


DIETETICS. 


induced  tliose  intemperate  habits  which  elicited  Dr.  Johnson’s 
memorable  remarks — “  In  the  bottle,  discontent  seeks  for  com¬ 
fort,  cowardice  for  courage,  and  bashfulness  for  confidence.” 
It  is  not  unlikely  that  Addison  was  first  seduced  to  excess  by 
the  manumission  which  he  obtained  from  the  servile  timidity 
of  his  sober  hours. 

From  Chaucer,  with  his  pipe  of  wine,  to  the  time  of  Ben 
Jonson  onward,  with  a  few  noble  exceptions,  the  laureates  seem 
to  have  loved  the  juice  of  the  grape,  as  well  as  the  Heliconian 
fount.  “  Bare  Ben  ”  had  such  a  fancy  for  a  particular  wine, 
that  it  procured  for  him  the  sobriquet  of  the  “  canary-bird.” 
But  the  passion  for  “  libations  deep  ”  has  not  been  the  infirmity 
of  the  poets  only  ;  persons  of  all  classes  and  all  times  have  been 
its  victims. 

Literary  men  have  proverbially  weak  digestion,  superinduced 
in  most  instances,  it  is  true,  by  their  sedentary  habits  and  de¬ 
votion  to  study.  The  pleasures  of  the  table,  indeed,  if  indulged 
to  excess,  entail  the  penalty  of  dyspepsia  upon  all  who  trans¬ 
gress  physical  law.  According  to  Dr.  Doran,  more  than 
seventeen  hundred  works  on  this  prevalent  evil  of  indigestion 
have  been  published ;  out  of  this  formidable  array  of  curators, 
perhaps  “  moderation  ”  is  the  best  and  surest  specific.  Dr. 
Johnson  is  said  to  have  observed  the  good  old  habit  of  saying 
“  grace  before  meat ;  ”  but  he  often  grumbled  with  his  cook,  not 
content  with  his  food.  It  has  been  well  remarked,  that  “  he  is 
an  ungracious  knave  who  sits  down  to  a  repast  without  at 
least  a  silent  acknowledgment  to  Ilim  without  whom  there 
could  have  been  no  spreading  of  the  banquet.”  Such  a  de¬ 
faulter  deserves  dyspepsia,  or  no  dinner  at  all. 

Having  thus  taken  a  brief  survey  of  the  edibles  of  various 
nations,  presenting  an  amusing  assemblage  of  dishes — enough 
to  flatter  the  most  capricious  palate  of  the  veriest  epicure,  we 
shall  leave  their  more  minute  discussion  to  the  taste  of  the 


DIETETICS. 


31 


reader ;  nothing  doubting  that  John  Bull  will  indulge  his  pre¬ 
dilection  for  roast  beef,  plum  pudding,  and  old  port,  or  beer 
— Monsieur  his  love  for  soup  maigre*  fricassee*  and  vin  ordi¬ 
naire — and  Brother  Jonathan  his  preference  for  everything 
that  is  nice,  not  excepting  his  down-east  dish — pumpkin  pie. 

Samuel  Lover’s  joke  of  the  Irishman  in  France  may  be 
familiar  to  the  reader ;  the  Hibernian,  upon  being  presented 
with  the  soup  aforesaid,  eagerly  surveyed  its  contents,  and  be¬ 
ing  about  to  throw  off  his  coat,  was  asked  what  he  was  at ;  he 
replied,  “  Faith,  I’m  going  to  swim  for  that  bit  of  mate.”  He 
was  evidently  rather  for  solids  than  solutions.  .  An  Irishman  is 
almost  synonymous  with  his  “  pratee  ;  ”  it  is  his  mate ,  as  whis¬ 
key  is  his  drink.  At  Manchester  there  was  once  convened  a 
society  of  verdant  bipeds,  who  rejoiced  in  the  title  of  vegetari¬ 
ans,  from  their  custom  of  eating  nothing  but  vegetables.  Their 
members  frequently  met  for  the  laudable  purpose  of  masticat¬ 
ing  mashed  potatoes  and  munching  cabbage  leaves.  At  one 
of  these  convocations,  over  two  hundred  sat  down  to  a  table 
garnished  with  all  varieties  of  garden  stuff — such  as  sage 
and  onions,  beet-root,  mushrooms,  and  parsley,  and  such  like 
luxuries. 

A  recent  English  writer  thus  daintily  describes  the  dessert : 
aThe  French  epicurean  writers  say  that  the  dessert  should  be 
the  girandole  or  crowning  tableau  of  the  dinner.  It  should 
surprise,  astonish,  dazzle,  enchant.  If  the  dinner  have  fully 
satisfied  the  sense  of  taste  and  the  well-balanced  appetite,  the 
dessert  should  address  itself  to  the  soul  through  the  eyes.  It 
should  rouse  sensations  of  surprise  and  admiration,  and  crown 
the  enjoyments  that  commenced  with  the  removal  of  the  cover 
of  the  soup  tureen — that  Pandora’s  casket  of  a  bad  dinner — 
that  joy  and  triumph  of  a  successful  and  tasteful  repast.” 

The  same  sprightly  pen  continues  :  “  The  dessert  is  meant 
for  the  eyes  more  than  the  stomach.  Yet  what  bright  and  pleas- 


32 


DIETETICS. 


ant  tilings  have  been  said  £  over  the  walnuts  and  the  wine ; 5 
what  pretty  and  gallant  compliments  paid  as  filberts  have  been 
cracked !  IIow  agreeable  it  is  on  a  winter  evening  to  see  a 
broadside  of  honest  chestnuts  bounce  and  bang  from  the  lower 
bar  of  the  grate  ;  what  time  the  miserable  and  tepid  formality 
of  smuggling  them  in,  wrapped  in  a  napkin,  has  been  forgotten 
for  the  quiet  comfort  and  enjoyment  of  a  really  friendly  party ! 
The  dinner  is  over,  its  toils,  its  glories,  are  past ;  we  are  now 
in  a  flowering  prairie  of  idleness,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  try 
fruits,  and  to  sip  at  all  preserves  that  are  not  at  discord  with 
our  wine.” 

“  Take  it  altogether  (conventional  as  it  is),  no  one  would  wish 
the  custom  of  dessert  abolished.  It  is  a  pleasant  little  fruit 
harvest ;  but  the  ladies  must  no  longer  be  suffered  to  leave  us, 
now  the  three-bottle  days  are  gone  forever.  And  if  English 
families  would  only  get  into  the  quiet,  enjoyable  German  way 
of  part-singing,  and  would  teach  their  young  people  to  sing, 
dessert  would  be  the  best  time  for  a  little  agreeable,  unostenta¬ 
tious,  cosey,  natural  music.” 

When  Dean  Swift  was  invited  to  dinner  by  his  friend  Lord 
Bolingbroke,  and,  as  an  inducement  to  accept,  was  shown  the 
dinner  bill,  he  replied,  “  A  fig  for  your  bill  of  fare — show  me 
your  bill  of  company.”  Those  who  are  perfectly  versant  in 
forming  good  dinners  are  not  always  equally  an  fait  in  their 
selection  of  guests ;  such  companies  being  often  more  incon¬ 
gruous  and  less  likely  to  assimilate  than  the  various  viands, 
sauces,  and  dainties  of  which  the  entertainment  consists. 

There  must  be  a  sort  of  adaptation  or  homogeneousness 
among  the  guests  assembled — so  that  the  old  may  not  be  con¬ 
founded  with  the  young,  the  high  with  the  homely,  the  rough 
with  the  refined.  Hay,  there  often  occur  individuals,  who,  like 
an  acid  and  an  alkali,  though  separately  pungent,  are  totally 
neutralized  by  a  junction. 


DIETETICS. 


33 


This  is  seen  in  the  ill-assorted  dinner-parties  occasionally  to 
be  met  with.  “At  one  table  you  behold  a  judge,  brimful  of 
law,  brought  into  contact  with  a  captain  of  the  sea,  who  abso¬ 
lutely  spouts  salt  water.  At  another,  a  spinster  of  the  most 
perpendicular  propriety  is  subjected  to  the  explosions  of  a  bois¬ 
terous  miss.  At  a  third,  a  fair  one  is  placed  side  by  side  with 
her  quondam  faithless  adorer.  At  a  fourth,  two  party  oppo¬ 
nents  glare,  like  meteors,  against  each  other,  from  their  adverse 
orbits.” 

At  the  grand  entertainments  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  of 
England,  it  is  the  well-known  custom  for  the  servant  to  an¬ 
nounce  the  names  of  the  guests  as  they  arrive.  A  greenhorn 
of  a  lackey  persisted,  on  several  such  occasions,  in  giving  to  his 
mistress  a  title  which  she  did  not  claim,  announcing  her  and  her 
daughter  as  the  Right  Honorable  Lady  A.  and  the  Honorable 
Miss  A.  He  was  told  in  future  to  announce  them  as — simple 
Lady  A.  and  plain  Miss  A.  Their  astonishment  may  be  im¬ 
agined  when  they  found  the  instructions  carried  out  to  the  let¬ 
ter,  while  Devonshire  House  was  electrified  by  the  intelligence, 
that  simple  Lady  A.  and  plain  Miss  M.  were  coming  up  ! 

A  word  or  two  touching  libations.  The  faculty  insist  that 
every  departure  from  water  in  its  natural  state  is  an  injury  to 
the  animal  economy.  We  confess,  however,  with  Parr,  John¬ 
son,  Robert  Hall,  and  other  erudite  pundits,  a  decided  predi¬ 
lection  for  a  good  cup  of  tea.  Leigh  Hunt  discourses  in 
rapturous  strain  on  this  topic,  where  he  asks — 

“  Did  you„6ver  return  home  from  a  journey,  cold,  wet,  and 
weary,  and  unexpected,  after  tea  was  over,  and  the  tea  leaves 
ejected  from  the  silver?  Bright  eyes  glistened  with  delight  at 
the  sight  of  you ;  perhaps  more  than  one  pair,  and  a  silvery 
voice  names  the  magic  word  ‘  tea.’  Out  of  some  dozen  of 
these  instances,  did  it  ever  happen  to  you — when  the  tea  had 
been  made  for  you  alone — to  partake  of  a  cup  whose  delicious 
3 


34 


DIETETICS. 


fragrance  had  dwelt  ever  after  on  your  palate,  like  a  vision  of 
paradise,  and  of  which  yon  have  sometimes  a  difficulty  in  per¬ 
suading  yourself  that  it  was  not  all  a  dream?  Such  an 
instance  once  occurred  to  me,  not  after  a  journey,  but  at  a 
dining-out.  I  left  the  animals  at  their  accustomed  wine,  and 
followed  on  the  track  of  the  girls,  some  of  whom  were  so  full 
of  charms  that,  had  Hebe  fallen  sick,  they  might  have  supplied 
her  place  at  the  board  of  Jove,  without  the  fair  nectar-bearer 
being  missed.  It  was  winter  time  ;  the  fire  burned  brightly, 
and  the  rug  was  so  soft  and  rich  that  I  would  not  have  ex¬ 
changed  it  for  the  golden  fleece  which  set  so  many  men  raving 
of  old.  The  ottoman  on  which  I  reclined  might  have  made 
an  old  Roman  spurn  his  supper  couch,  and  the  girls  gathering 
around  me  might  have  made  old  Mohammed  sulky  in  his 
paradise,  and  all  his  houris  jealous.  By  all  the  immortal  gods ! 
that  moment  might  have  served  as  a  memorable  era  in  a  cen¬ 
tury  of  lives;  but  it  was  nothing  to  what  followed.  The 
clustering  beauties  called  for  a  tale  of  the  wilderness,  of 
4  antres  vast,  and  deserts  wild,5  and  one  presses  more  than  the 
others.  I  see  her  now,  her  Greek  face,  her  glossy  hair,  her 
speaking  eyes,  straight,  pencilled,  defined,  dark  brows,  long 
eyelashes,  and  parted  lips,  4  discoursing  eloquent  music.5 

44 4  A  bargain ! 5  I  said,  as  she  sat  on  the  ottoman  by  my  side. 

4  A  cup  of  tea  made  after  mine  own  fashion,  and  I  will  talk 
till  sunrise ! 5 

44  4  Agreed ! 5  she  replied,  and  the  preparations  were  made. 
A  hermetically  sealed  canister  was  brought,  containing  a  single 
pound ;  not  a  leaden  canister,  but  one  of  tin ;  not  block  tin, 
either,  but  the  pure  metal,  thin,  white,  glittering,  and  crack¬ 
ling.  Talk  of  the  charms  of  an  uncut  novel,  indeed !  Give 
me  the  opening  of  such  a  virgin  case,  pure  as  it  left  China. 
It  was  not  green  tea,  it  was  not  black  tea ;  neither  too  young 
nor  too  old ;  not  unpleasing  with  astringence,  on  the  one  hand, 


DIETETICS. 


35 


nor  with  the  vapid,  half-earthly  taste  of  decayed  vegetable 
matter  on  the  other ;  it  was  tea  in  its  most  perfect  state,  full 
charged  with  aroma,  which,  when  it  was  opened,  diffused  its 
fragrance  through  the  whole  apartment,  putting  all  other 
perfumes  to  shame.  About  an  ounce  was  then  rubbed  to 
powder  by  my  fair  Hebe,  and  deposited  in  its  broad,  shallow, 
silver  receiver,  with  just  cold  water  enough  to  saturate  it. 
After  standing  twenty  minutes,  hot  water  off  the  boil ,  as  it  is 
technically  called,  that  is,  free  from  ebullition,  was  poured  on 
it,  amounting  in  quantity  to  three-quarters  of  a  pint,  and  the 
lid  was  closely  shut  down  on  it,  while  the  cylindrical-shaped 
tea-cup  was  placed  on  the  spout  to  catch  the  aroma  thence 
issuing.  At  the  expiration  of  a  minute,  it  was  poured  out 
(what  a  beautiful  hand  it  was  !),  and  the  rich  globules  of  essen¬ 
tial  oil  might  be  seen  floating  on  the  surface,  a  perfect  treasure 
of  delight.  A  small  portion  of  Alderney  cream  was  instantly 
added,  to  prevent  the  escape  of  the  essential  oil,  and  just  suffi¬ 
cient  of  the  brilliant  large-crystallized  sugar  to  neutralize  the 
slight  bitter.  Oh,  heavens !  to  sip  that  most  exquisite  cup  of 
delight,  was  bliss  almost  too  great  for  earth  ;  a  thousand  years 
of  rapture  all  concentrated  into  the  space  of  a  minute,  as  if  the 
joys  of  all  the  world  had  been  skimmed  for  my  peculiar  drink¬ 
ing — I  should  rather  say  imbibing,  for  to  have  swallowed  that 
liquid  like  an  ordinary  beverage,  without  tasting  every  drop, 
would  have  been  sacrilege.” 

The  first  English  tea  dealer  was  also  a  tobacconist ;  his 
name  was  Garway,  and  his  locale  Exchange  alley.  These 
“  weeds  of  novelty  ”  were  costly  luxuries  at  first.  Tea  was  used 
medicinally,  and  it  was  not  until  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 
century  that  it  was  indulged  in  as  a  beverage.  The  first  brew¬ 
ers  of  tea  were  often  sorely  perplexed  with  the  preparation  of 
the  new  mystery  ;  after  boiling  the  tea,  “  they  sat  down  to  eat 
the  leaves,  with  butter  and  salt;”  since  then,  however,  the  tea 


30 


DIETETICS. 


leaves  are  thrown  away,  and  the  beverage,  which  cheers  but 
not  inebriates,  has  been  imbibed  instead.  The  Dutch  were 
the  first  to  discover  the  utility  and  value  of  the  herb,  and 
when,  in  1666,  it  was  first  introduced  into  England,  it  sold  at 
about  three  guineas  per  pound. 

Here,  then,  we  close  our  desultory  discussion  of  table  deli¬ 
cacies,  so  as  to  allow  a  respite  for  digesture ;  since  without 
the  assimilating  process,  even  the  daintiest  dishes — though 
they  flatter  the  palate — may  yet  superinduce  that  dire  tor¬ 
mentor — dyspepsia!  All  ought,  of  course,  to  secure  the  one 
and  escape  the  other;  and  to  the  despondent  valetudinarian 
our  counsel  is,  “throw  physic  to  the  dogs/5  and  address  thyself 
devotedly  to  the  fibrous  virtues  of  the  “glorious  sirloin.55 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


“Words  must  be  fitted  to  a  man’s  mouth — ’twas  well  said  of  the  fellow  that  was  to  make  a 
speech  for  my  Lord  Mayor,  when  he  desired  to  take  measure  of  his  Lordship’s  mouth.” — Selden. 

This  gift  of  speech  is  the  electric  chain  that  links  mankind 
together  in  the  social  compact ;  it  is  the  living  medium  through 
which  the  resources  of  the  realm  of  thought  become  an  intel¬ 
lectual  currency.  What,  indeed,  should  we  be  without  the  en¬ 
dowment  of  this  heaven-descended  faculty  \  If  it  were  not  an 
Hibernianism ,  we  would  say  let  the  dumb  reply.  Taciturnity 


38 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


sometimes  shelters  itself  under  the  specious  pretext,  that  a 
still  tongue  indicates  a  wise  head  ;  but  the  truth  is,  there  are 
too  many  important  things  to  talk  about,  in  the  present  day,  to 
admit  of  habitual  reticence  being  ranked  among  the  social 
virtues. 

The  human  voice  is  the  most  marvellous,  as  well  as  melodi¬ 
ous,  of  all  the  music  of  nature.  Sweet  are  the  songs  of  birds, 
the  rich  melody  of  the  harp,  the  vial,  and  other  instruments  of 
sound ;  but  what  are  these  to  the  soft,  sweet  cadences  of 
woman’s  voice  ?  Who  does  not  confess  to  the  witchery  of  her 
persuasive  speech,  and  who  is  proof  against  its  potency  ?  Eye- 
language  is  hers,  also,  and  it  is  full  of  magic  and  mystery ;  but 
her  voice  is  irresistible.  How  deep  an  interest  do  we  possess 
in  the  faculty  of  speech.  The  eye  is  said  never  to  be  tired  of 
seeing,  nor  the  ear  with  hearing,  and  both  organs  have  enough 
in  this  beautiful  world  of  sights  and  sounds  for  their  delecta¬ 
tion  ;  it  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  both  should  con¬ 
stantly  crave  indulgence.  Hor  is  the  gift  of  speech  a  less 
essential  endowment  of  our  being.  “  Talking  is  the  best  of  all 
recreations,  and  a  master  of  the  art  possesses  the  most  useful 
and  enjoyable  of  accomplishments.  Conversation  is  designed 
to  be  the  one  long-lasting,  never-failing  amusement  of  man¬ 
kind.  It  is  the  pleasure  that  sets  in  earliest,  outlives  all  vicissi¬ 
tudes,  and  continues  ours  when  we  can  enjoy  nothing  else.” 
What  potency  has,  sometimes,  accompanied  a  few  magic  words ! 
Who  can  estimate  their  beneficent  influence  upon  hearts 
sorrow-laden?  With  what  a  potent  spell  do  they  often  dissi¬ 
pate  the  gloom  of  the  sick-chamber,  and  light  up  the  sad  face 
of  suffering  humanity !  The  cheerful  converse  of  a  friend 
will  often  tend,  more  than  anything  else,  to  soothe,  exhilarate, 
and  expand  the  heart,  and  impart  an  elasticity  to  the  spirit,  and 
a  vigor  to  the  vital  current,  beyond  all  the  skill  of  the  phy¬ 


sician. 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


39 


“  Use  gentle  words,  for  who  can  tell  the  blessings  they  impart  ? 

How  oft  they  fall  (as  manna  fell),  on  some  nigh -fainting  heart. 

In  lonely  wilds,  by  light- winged  birds,  rare  seeds  have  oft  been  sown ; 

And  hope  has  sprung  from  gentle  words,  where  only  griefs  had  grown.” 

“  Never  is  the  deep,  strong  voice  of  man,  or  the  low,  sweet  voice 
of  woman,  finer  than  in  the  earnest  but  mellowed  tones  of 
familiar  speech,  richer  than  the  richest  music,  which  are  a  de¬ 
light  while  they  are  heard,  which  linger  still  upon  the  ear  in 
softened  echoes,  and  which,  when  they  have  ceased,  come  long 
after  back  to  memory,  like  the  murmurs  of  a  distant  hymn. 
Oh !  it  is  very  pleasant  to  listen  to  such  voices,  accordant  with 
lofty  conceptions  and  sweet  humanities — the  soul-breathings 
that  now  swell  with  daring  imaginations,  and  then  sink  into  the 
gentleness  of  sadness  or  of  pity.  I  have  heard  such  voices,  voices 
that  were  music  from  the  soul  and  to  it — the  very  melody  of 
thought,  and  of  thought  that  was  the  very  soul  of  goodness. 
Beautiful  conceptions  sang  along  the  syllables,  beautiful  feel¬ 
ings  came  trickling  from  the  heart  in  liquid  tones.  Yery 
pleasant  are  such  voices,  pleasant  on  the  fragrant  air  of  a  sum¬ 
mer’s  evening,  pleasant  by  the  fire  on  a  winter’s  night,  pleasant 
in  the  palace,  pleasant  in  the  shanty,  pleasant  while  they  last, 
pleasant  to  remember,  even  with  sorrow,  when  they  are  silent 
— when  their  melody  shall  never,  never  again  attune  and 
sweeten  the  common  air  of  earth.”  * 

By  popular  consent — at  least  with  one  sex — the  daughters 
of  Eve  are  supposed  to  excel  in  the  use  of  the  vocal  organs. 
What  must  have  been  the  severity  of  the  penalty  which  was  self- 
imposed  upon  the  nuns  of  that  monastery,  which  in  the  fifteenth 
century  stood  on  the  site  now  occupied  by  Sion  House,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Thames,  near  London.  Their  terrible  vow  of  per¬ 
petual  silence  was,  it  is  said,  kept  inviolate  by  means  of  man¬ 
ual  and  bodily  signs ;  a  manuscript  copy  of  their  code  of  signals, 

*  Henry  Giles. 


9 


40 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


we  have  been  told,  is  yet  in  existence.  And  yet  it  is  affirmed  by 
one  of  our  popular  writers  that  conversation  is  fast  dying  out 
with  us— -that  it  will  soon  become  one  of  the  “  lost  arts ;  ”  that 
modern  men  and  women  are  reading  themselves  into  a  com¬ 
paratively  silent  race.  “  Eeading  is  the  great  delusion  of  the 
present  time ;  it  has  become  a  sort  of  lay  piety,  according  to 
which  the  perusal  of  volumes  reckons  as  good  works  ;  it  is,  in 
a  word,  the  superstition  of  the  nineteenth  century.” #  The 
case  is,  however,  we  think,  far  from  hopeless  yet ;  for  so  long 
as  our  “  mother-tongue  ”  remains  under  the  especial  patronage 
of  the  fair  sex,  we  have  little  cause  to  fear. 

Hazlitt,  strangely  enough,  considering  his  cultivated  taste  and 
acuteness,  confesses  that  he  was  “  very  much  of  the  opinion  of 
that  old  Scotch  gentleman,  who  owned  that  he  preferred  the 
dullest  book  he  had  ever  read  to  the  most  brilliant  conversation 
it  had  ever  been  his  lot  to  hear.”  Few,  indeed,  we  think,  will 
subscribe  to  this  opinion,  even  among  the  lovers  of  books ; 
for  who  does  not  prefer  the  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the  liv¬ 
ing  flower  to  the  distilled  essence  of  its  crushed  leaves  ? 

A  book,  even  when  it  contains  the  “  life-blood  of  an  immor¬ 
tal  spirit,”  still  is  not  itself  an  immortal  spirit ;  for  the  builder 
of  a  house  is  greater  than  the  house.  Yet,  while  many  men, 
eminent  in  learning,  have  glorified,  the  glorious  gift  of  speech, 
many  also  have  glorified  books,  by  making  them  the  vehicles 
of  their  recorded  conversations.  What  a  wealth  of  learning 
have  we  derived  from  the  dialogues  of  Homer,  Socrates,  and 
Cicero,  among  the  ancients  ;  and  those  of  Johnson,  Coleridge, 
Rogers,  Southey,  Burke,  Mackintosh,  Sydney  Smith,  and  a  host 
of  others,  among  the  moderns  !  Dialogue  has  also  been  recog¬ 
nized  in  the  Bible  as  well  as  in  Bunyan’s  allegory.  Talking 
and  conversing  are  not  convertible  terms.  Coleridge  was  a 
magnificent  talker,  and,  therefore,  by  general  consent,  his 

»  *  Harper’s  Magazine. 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


41 


friends  allowed  him  to  have  it  all  to  himself.  On  one  occa¬ 
sion,  he  asked  Southey  if  he  had  ever  heard  him  preach ;  to 
which  he  replied,  “  I  have  never  heard  you  do  anything  else.” 
But  very  few,  even  among  illustrious  men,  could  talk  like 
Coleridge.  Johnson  was  another  authoritative  talker,  who 
monopolized  the  privilege  to  the  exclusion  of  his  listeners, 
among  whom  was  often  poor  Goldsmith,  who,  like  Boswell, 
regarded  the  great  lexicographer  with  a  species  of  awe,  and 
his  utterances  as  oracular. 

The  Johnsonian  model  would  not,  however,  be  popular  in  our 
day,  the  rule  of  our  modern  social  intercourse  being  not  for  the 
sake  of  mere  gladiatorial  display,  to  achieve  a  conquest  in  de¬ 
bate,  but  for  mutual  entertainment  and  profit.  Johnson  and 
Coleridge  were  great  in  monologue,  but  that  is  not  colloquy ; 
and  great  talkers,  merely,  have  been  designated  “  great  culprits  ” 
in  the  conversational  code  of  good  manners.  If  good  talkers 
transgress,  what  shall  be  charged  against  another  class  who 
talk  a  great  deal,  while  in  effect  they  say  nothing?  There 
are  maxims  manifold  for  teaching  men  to  speak,  which  are 
comparatively  little  required,  since  nature  prompts  us  to  utter¬ 
ance  ;  but  few  suggest  the  superior  wisdom  of  maintaining  a 
judicious  silence,  which  requires  the  restraint  of  reason  and 
prudence.  “  It  is  with  narrow-souled  persons  as  with  narrow¬ 
necked  bottles — the  less  they  have  in  them  the  more  noise 
they  make  in  pouring  it  out.”  T^e  have  intuitively  the  art  of 
saying  much  on  a  little,  whereas  few  possess  the  wit  to  say 
much  in  a  little.  In  the  art  of  speaking,  as  in  chemical  science, 
condensation  is  strength ;  and  in  both  cases  the  result  is  at¬ 
tained  by  a  process  of  experimental  analysis. 

Presidential  addresses  and  Parliamentary  or  Congressional 
harangues  are  celebrated  specimens  of  the  verbose,  as  well  as  the 
rhetorical ;  and  the  three  memorable  words  of  a  classic  hero — 
“  Veni,  Vidi ,  Vici  ” — furnish  a  splendid  specimen  of  the 


42 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


multum  in  jparvo,  and  an  example  especially  worthy  the  imita¬ 
tion  of  modern  times.  William,  Prince  of  Orange,  who  made 
such  a  formidable  stand  against  Spain,  and  founded  the  com¬ 
monwealth  of  the  United  Provinces,  was  a  noble  instance  of  a 
sagaciously  silent  man  ;  hence  he  is  styled  “  William  the  Silent.” 

Let  us  glance  at  a  few  of  the  less  venial  sins  of  the  talka¬ 
tive — for  they  are  manifold,  and  to  classify  them  all  would  re¬ 
quire  the  nice  discrimination  of  an  ethical  Linnaeus.  We  begin 
with  the  babbler,  who  is  commonly  an  unhappy  personage  him¬ 
self,  for  he  has  meddled  too  industriously  with  the  affairs  of 
others  to  enjoy  any  personal  repose  or  satisfaction.  Having 
made  it  the  great  business  of  his  life  to  betray  some  hurtful 
secret,  or  aspersion  on  the  fair  fame  and  name  of  his  neighbor, 
no  one  thinks  it  worth  while  to  speak  well  of  him.  These  are 
the  miserable  creatures  who  batten  upon  the  noxious  weeds 
of  social  life — thrive  most  upon  pestilential  rumors  and  the 
infectious  breath  of  scandal ;  all  wholesome  truth  becomes 
insipid  to  their  vitiated  and  depraved  appetites ;  and  like  the 
fabled  Upas-tree,  they  diffuse  the  breath  of  poison  and  disease 
around  them. 

Dr.  Kitto  exhibits  scandal  in  its  true  deformity,  where  he 
describes  it  as  “  a  compound  of  malignity  and  simulation ; 
never  urging  an  opinion  with  the  bold  consciousness  of  truth, 
but  dealing  in  a  monotonous  jargon  of  half -sentences,  convey¬ 
ing  its  ambiguities  by  emphasis  ;  thus  confirming  the  evil  they 
affect  to  deplore.”  Those  persons  who  indulge  this  ignoble 
habit,  he  characterizes  as  “  the  hyenas  of  society,  perpetually 
prowling  over  reputation,  which  is  their  prey  ;  lamenting,  and 
at  the  same  time  enjoying,  the  ruin  they  create.” 

The  small-talkers  may  be  subdivided  into  two  varieties ;  the 
latter  class  being  accustomed  to  deal  homceopathically  in  the 
diluted  gossip  of  the  day.  These  exhibit  exemplary  persever¬ 
ance  in  the  picking  up  and  purveying  of  the  smallest  particles 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


43 


of  chit-chat ;  and  as  they  are  usually  provident  of  their  stores, 
they  make  a  very  little  go  a  great  way.  These  are  among 
insufferable  social  nuisances — they  are  both  parvenu  and  ple¬ 
beian,  and  are  fit  subjects  for  the  “  school  for  adults.” 

The  third  class  of  objective  talkers  are  such  as  find  “  flaws  in 
diamond  wit  of  the  first  waters — motes  in  the  brightest  rays  of 
the  mind — and  beams  in  the  eyes  of  Truth.”  Be  your  opinions 
what  they  may,  however  undeniable,  correct,  settled,  or  well- 
digested,  they  are  sure  to  object  to  them.  Let  your  opinions  to¬ 
day  be  to  the  letter‘what  theirs  were  yesterday,  they  instantly 
challenge  their  accuracy ;  and  if  they  are  foiled  in  their  argu¬ 
ments,  they  then  turn  their  objections  to  the  mode  in  which 
you  have  presented  them.  You  speak  unaffectedly,  and  they 
censure  you  for  mediocrity,  plainness,  and  want  of  spirit ;  talk 
in  ornate  phrase,  and  your  style  is  stilted  and  artificial ;  if 
your  utterance  is  slow  and  deliberate,  you  are  a  drawling  pro- 
ser  ;  if  quick  and  fluent,  your  impetuosity  is  unendurable,  and 
an  equal  offence  to  their  immaculate  taste.  You  modestly 
betray  that  you  are  well  read  in  the  classics,  and  they  accuse 
you  of  pedantry ;  you  conceal  your  bibliographical  knowledge, 
and  you  are  at  once  suspected  of  gross  ignorance,  both  of  men 
and  books.  You  bring  them  old  opinions,  and  they  doubt 
whether  you  have  any  of  your  own ;  you  deal  in  new  ones,  and 
they  object  to  them  as  unsound. 

Others  are  constantly  indulging  in  interrogatives ;  all  they 
have  to  propose  is  in  the  catechetical  form.  These,  we  need 
scarcely  remark,  are  of  a  naturally  inquisitive  turn  of  mind ; 
they  are  most  indefatigable  searchers  after  truth ;  they  are  the 
most  diligent  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and  no  difficulties  im¬ 
pede  their  attainments.  Curiosity  is  said  to  be  a  national  char¬ 
acteristic,  at  least  with  the  eastern  portion  of  our  country  ;  but 
it  is,  perhaps,  a  universal  attribute  of  the  female  sex.  Women, 
by  the  way,  are  a  strange  enigma ;  for  they  are  most  skilful  in 


44 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


extracting  secrets ;  yet  who  discover  so  little  tact  in  retaining 
them?  They  are  less  ingenuous  than  the  Hibernian,  who  ex¬ 
cused  himself  for  revealing  a  confidential  matter  committed  to 
him,  by  frankly  avowing  that,  as  he  found  he  could  not  keep 
the  secret  himself,  he  transferred  it  to  his  friend  to  retain  it 
for  him.  Exclusive  talkers  are  the  bores  of  society  ;  they  gen¬ 
erally  have  it  all  to  themselves,  and  all  their  owrn  way,  for  no¬ 
body  is  allowed  to  “ divide  the  honors”  with  them.  Though 
you  know  already  everything  he  is  saying,  you  cannot,  by  any 
chance,  add  to  his  marvellous  stock  of  information.  ITe  is  a  per¬ 
fect  cyclopaedia  of  general  knowledge  ;  and,  of  course,  is  abun¬ 
dantly  competent  to  instruct  the  unenlightened  wherever  he 
goes.  If  you  essay  to  relate  an  anecdote  or  incident,  he 
snatches  it  out  of  your  mouth,  and  tells  it  for  you,  with  the 
accompanying  embellishments  of  his  own  extempore  wit;  and 
should  you  urge,  after  its  recital,  that  his  was  a  different  ver¬ 
sion  of  the  story,  and  seek  to  rehearse  it  in  your  own  wTay,  he 
knows  the  other  version  as  well  as  you  do,  and  insists  upon  his 
own  repetition.  With  such  an  incorrigible  talker,  it  is  a  seri¬ 
ous  mistake  to  venture  any  suggestion  of  the  kind,  since  one 
anecdote  leads  by  concatenation  to  a  score  of  others,  and  thus 
you  unwittingly  subject  yourself  to  further  annoyance. 

Another  variety  of  the  talkative  is  the  exaggerator, — one  who 
despises  the  common  run  of  phrases,  and  deals  in  grandiloquent 
terms  and  high-flown  metaphors.  He  is  an  extravaganza  in  the 
social  circle ;  everything  he  utters  is  invested  with  hyperbole 
and  glowing  imagery ;  he  scorns  all  colloquial  phrases,  and  re¬ 
gards  everything  below  his  exalted  standard  mean  and  inex¬ 
pressive.  Whatever  he  has  to  say  must  be  tinted  up  couleur 
de  rose  /  yet,  while  his  habitual  indulgence  in  superlatives  and 
expletives  gives  spirit  and  force  to  his  descriptions,  it  is  ex¬ 
ceedingly  dangerous  to  admit  his  statements  too  literally. 
Even  the  witty  cannot  always  appreciate  his  humor,  and  mat- 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


45 


ter-of-fact  people  are  at  once  utterly  nonplussed  at  his  extrava¬ 
gance.  A  talker  of  this  class  is,  however,  amusing  in  com¬ 
pany,  for  people  must  relax  sometimes,  or  the  consequences 
would  prove  fatal  to  their  nervous  system.  That  delicate 
machinery,  by  the  way,  has  a  severe  ordeal  to  pass  through  in 
the  wear  and  tear  of  life.  Lord  Brougham  once  said,  no  man 
has  any  right  to  a  nervous  system,  who  does  not  possess  two 
thousand  a  year;  and  we  believe  he  was  not  far  from  just  in 
his  discrimination ;  for  while  we  pay  especial  regard  to  the 
well-being  of  the  stomach,  we  sadly  neglect  our  more  sensitive 
nerves.  A  little  nonsense,  therefore,  occasionally,  may  not  be 
inadmissible,  when  it  can  be  thus  harmlessly  indulged.  Non¬ 
sense  is  to  sense  as  shade  to  light — it  heightens  effect. 

This  art  of  vividly  magnifying  minor  objects  into  exagger¬ 
ated  importance,  by  exhibiting  them  through  a  kind  of  mental 
microscope,  has  a  charm  for  the  fireside.  It  presents  things  in 
grotesque  and  monstrous  distortion,  which  cannot  fail  of  ex¬ 
citing  our  risible  faculties.  Dean  Swift  was,  perhaps,  the 
greatest  specimen  of  this  style  of  talking.  This  habit,  of  exag¬ 
gerating  .a  statement  beyond  its  exact  limits,  is  one  of  the  most 
common  of  colloquial  misdemeanors.  Some  souls  seem  too 
big  for  their  bodies — every  thing  must  be  in  extenso  •  hence 
they  transcend  the  restrictive  limits  of  reality,  and  bound  off 
into  the  regions  of  the  ideal.  Sticklers  for  matter-of-fact  are, 
perhaps,  equally  tenacious  of  the  opposite  extreme ;  and  they 
are  no  less  obnoxious  to  good  taste  :  they  are  as  rigidly  literal 
as  the  former  are  poetical.  They  evince  a  false  zeal  for  truth, 
for  they  again  leap  beyond  its  limits,  in  their  eager  pursuit  of 
details.  With  all  their  professed  antipathy  to  exaggeration, 
they  become  culpable  in  the  very  thing  they  repudiate.  The 
man  who  would  measure  a  hair  or  weigh  a  feather,  is  as  guilty 
of  an  hyperbole  as  he  who  would  transcend  the  just  propor¬ 
tions  of  truth. 


46 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


Among  minor  varieties  might  be  classed  the  slow-talker, 
whose  drawling  accents  make  even  the  very  atmosphere 
drowsy,  and  wrhose  provoking  prolixity  is  tantalizing  to  the 
most  patient  of  listeners.  Then  there  is  the  lond  talker,  whose 
lack  of  sense  and  modesty  he  vainly  thinks  to  disguise  in 
“  sound  and  fury  signifying  nothing.” 

There  is  yet  another  class,  who  are  in  the  habit  of  violating 
good  taste  and  decorum  by  the  ever-recurring  use  of  outre  and 
unintelligible  terms — flowers  of  speech — exotics  from  all  the 
living  languages,  as  well  as  the  dead.  These  scorn  the  usnal 
phrases  of  our  vernacular,  however  inapt  their  adoption  may 
be  of  foreign  terms. 

The  injudicious  and  excessive  use  of  foreign  phrases  evinces 
a  very  questionable  taste,  and  is  characteristic  of  pedantry  and 
a  love  of  display,  which  those  who  value  their  reputation  for 
scholarship  ought  scrupulously  to  avoid.  We  confess  ourselves 
too  charitably  inclined  to  exhibit  the  foibles  incident  to  another 
unfortunate  class,  who  are  prone  to  a  fatal  habit  of  telling 
what  they  have  to  say  inopportunely,  or  who  are  frequently 
liable  to  perpetrate  bad  puns,  and  worse  jokes,  at  which  no 
one  can  even  force  a  spasmodic  laugh,  for  we  all  know  Dr. 
Johnson’s  depreciative  estimate  of  their  character.  They  have 
but  one  exclusive  privilege,  of  which  most  evince  a  ready  pro¬ 
clivity  to  avail  themselves — that  of  laughing  at  their  own  point¬ 
less  puns.  Yet  Charles  Lamb  defends  this  right  in  the  fol¬ 
lowing  wise:  “That  a  man  must  not  laugh  at  his  own  jest  is 
surely  the  severest  exaction  ever  invented  upon  the  self-denial 
of  poor  human  nature.  This  is  to  expect  a  gentleman  to  give 
a  treat  without  partaking  of  it,  to  sit  esurient  at  his  own 
table,  and  commend  the  flavor  of  his  own  venison  upon  the 
absurd  strength  of  never  touching  it  himself.  On  the  contrary, 
we  love  to  see  a  wag  taste  his  own  joke  to  his  party.” 

Having  disposed  of  our  garrulous  friends,  what  shall  we  say 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


47 


of  the  incommunicative? — those  inane  beings  who  so  admirably 
supply  the  lack  of  statuary  in  the  boudoir  or  library.  Among 
this  class  are  the  men  of  elongated  and  lugubrious  visage,  who 
frown  out  of  existence  even  the  scintillation  of  a  smile,  and 
“  shut  up  ”  every  facetious  mouth,  however  highly  charged  it 
may  be  with  intellectual  electricity.  Referring  to  the  taci¬ 
turnity  of  the  British,  Sydney  Smith  remarks,  “  There  is  noth¬ 
ing  which  an  Englishman  more  enjoys  than  the  pleasure  of 
sulkiness — of  not  being  forced  to  hear  a  word  from  anybody 
which  may  occasion  him  the  necessity  of  replying.  It  is  not  so 
much  that  Mr.  Bull  disdains  to  talk,  as  that  Mr.  Bull  has  noth¬ 
ing  to  say.  His  forefathers  have  been  out  of  spirits  for  six  or 
seven  hundred  years ;  and,  seeing  nothing  but  fog  and  vapor, 
he  is  out  of  spirits,  too ;  and  when  there  is  no  selling  or  buying, 
or  no  business  to  settle,  he  prefers  being  alone  and  looking  at 
the  fire.”  The  taciturn,  whatever  be  their  minor  idiosyncra¬ 
sies,  are  social  dampers;  they  repress  the  utterances  of  the 
heart  wherever  their  influence  extends.  If  a  man  be  endued 
with  a  tongue  and  brains,  it  is  fair  to  infer  they  were  designed 
for  use ;  an  incorrigible  mute,  therefore,  sins  against  himself, 
as  well  as  society.  Some  persons  very  modestly  shelter  them¬ 
selves  under  the  plea  that  their  silence  is  caused  by  their 
laborious  habit  of  thinking ;  we  regard  this  apology  as  apocry¬ 
phal  at  the  best;  for  any  man  who  has,  however  little,  of  the 
Promethean  fire  in  him,  must  throw  off  sparks  sometimes. 
Some  of  these  wordless  men  vainly  seek  to  atone  for  their 
provoking  silence  by  assuming  an  interminable  and  senseless 
smile ;  others,  again,  sit  in  stolid  indifference,  looking  as  vapid 
and  unimpressible  as  they  probably  are  in  reality. 

There  is  another  variety  who  absurdly  obtrude  themselves 
and  their  private  affairs  on  the  attention  of  a  mixed  company, 
than  which  nothing  can  be  more  injudicious  or  indelicate. 
Others  lie  in  wait  for  every  opportunity  to  proclaim  their  own 


48 


THE  TALKATIVE  AKD  THE  .  TACITURN". 


adroitness  and  wit,  and  are  ever  on  the  alert  to  elicit  commen¬ 
dation  and  compliments.  Some  boast  their  gift  of  prescience ; 
they  challenge  us  to  remember  they  always  foretold  what 
would  happen  in  such  a  case,  but  none  would  believe  them ; 
they  advised  such  a  person  from  the  beginning,  and  told  him 
the  consequences  would  be  j  ust  as  they  happened,  but  he  would 
have  his  own  way.  Others,  again,  have  a  singular  weakness  or 
vanity  of  telling  their  own  frailties  and  faults :  “  they  are  the 
strangest  of  all  strange  people — they  cannot  dissemble ;  they 
own  it  is  a  folly — they  have  lost  advantages  by  it — but  if  you 
would  give  them  the  world,  they  cannot  help  it.” 

To  preserve  a  judicious  silence  is  a  very  essential  requisite  in 
refined  and  polite  society  ;  this  silence  is  not,  of  course,  sullen 
or  supercilious,  but  graceful  and  eloquent. 

Having  taken  our  exceptions  to  offenders  against  good  man¬ 
ners  in  the  matter  of  conversation,  we  will  now  venture  to  offer 
a  few  hints  for  the  uninitiated.  Conversation  is  one  of  thfe 
polite  arts  of  life,  its  end  and  aim  being  the  cultivation  of 
the  graces  and  attractions  of  social  life ;  he  that  possesses  con¬ 
versational  powers  in  the  highest  degree,  therefore,  becomes  a 
most  efficient  agent  in  imparting  pleasure,  and  in  contributing 
to  the  improvement  of  society.  Very  much  of  our  colloquial 
intercourse,  however,  consists  of  mere  gossip,  and  gossip  of  the 
most  trivial  kind — such  as  the  state  of  the  weather,  the  prevail¬ 
ing  on  dits  of  the  newspapers,  and  the  costumes  and  domestic 
affairs  of  our  neighbors,  etc.  Unless  our  conversational  topics 
rise  to  a  higher  level,  with  a  flavor  of  the  intellectual,  sea¬ 
soned  with  a  little  Attic  salt,  it  will  be  in  vain  to  hope  for  im¬ 
provement.  The  fixed  conventionalities  and  phrases  of  fash¬ 
ionable  life  do  little  more  than  add  a  superficial  polish  to  the 
inanities  and  platitudes  which  form  the  common  staple  of  ordi¬ 
nary  social  intercourse.  Fashionable  conversation  is,  indeed,  a 
sacrifice  to  etiquette,  as  that  of  low-life  is  to  vulgarity ;  it  is  in 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


49 


the  “golden  mean”  of  cultivated  society  that  the  best  conversers 
are  to  be  found.  Women  are  invested  with  privileges  in  the 
social  circle  above  those  of  the  opposite  sex,  for  they  challenge 
both  your  logic  and  your  gallantry.  If  you  confront  their 
opinions  with  the  first,  you  are  silenced  by  the  second ;  it  is 
therefore  safer  to  surrender  the  contest  at  discretion. 

Two  things  seem  essential  to  the  possession  of  good  conversa¬ 
tional  powers — a  competent  knowledge  of  men  and  books,  and 
a  felicitous  habit  of  expression ;  the  former  is  to  be  acquired  by 
observation  and  study ;  while  the  latter  is  more  commonly  an 
intuitive  gift.  Topics  upon  which  to  descant  are  manifold  and 
various ;  the  whole  realm  of  nature  and  art,  the  boundless  re¬ 
sources  of  knowledge,  and  the  numberless  incidents,  phases,  and 
accidents  of  human  life,  as  well  as  the  myriad  forms  of  imagery 
that  people  the  regions  of  thought  and  fancy — all  supply  themes 
of  interesting  discussion.  What,  for  example,  could  afford 
•  subjects  more  pleasing  or  fertile  for  a  quiet  and  sociable  tete-a- 
tete  than  the  variegated  treasures  of  Flora,  the  ever-changing 
and  exquisite  beauties  of  natural  scenery,  the  investigations  of 
pure  science,  and  the  accumulated  wealth  of  human  lore  ?  If 
anecdote  and  humor  are  the  pearls  of  polite  conversation,  the 
above-named  constitute  the  pure  gold  for  their  setting,  reflect¬ 
ing  a  tenfold  splendor.  Those,  therefore,  who  are  aufait  at 
repartee,  or  who  fill  up  the  pauses  which  occur  in  graver  dis¬ 
cussions  by  brilliant  flashes  of  extempore  wit,  or  a  piquant 
story,  good-natured  sarcasm,  or  playful  satire,  achieve  no  in¬ 
considerable  service  in  the  social  gathering.  The  circumstan¬ 
ces  of  time,  place,  and  the  character  of  the  company,  ought,  of 
course,  ever  to  govern  the  choice  of  topics,  and  the  manner  and 
method  of  their  presentation.  It  would  be  absurd  to  expound 
a  problem  of  Euclid  to  an  elderly  lady  whose  sphere  of  attain¬ 
ments  never  stretched  beyond  the  details  of  the  dormitory  or 

the  duties  of  her  domicil ;  and  it  would  be  equally  inconsist- 
4 


50 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


ent  to  attempt  a  grave  dissertation  on  the  treasures  hidden  in 
the  heart  of  the  earth,  to  a  fair  nymph  in  love,  whose  interests 
lie  all  concentrated  and  clustered  in  the  devoted  heart  of  her 
lover.  “  Talk  not  to  a  physician  of  music,  nor  of  medicine  to 
a  tiddler,  unless  the  fiddler  should  be  sick,  and  the  physician 
at  a  concert.  He  that  speaks  only  of  such  subjects  as  are  fa¬ 
miliar  to  himself,  treats  the  company  as  the  stork  did  the  fox, 
presenting  an  entertainment  to  him  in  a  deep  pitcher,  out  of 
which  no  creature  could  feed  but  a  long-billed  fowl.”  * 

Fulsome  flattery,  and  all  kinds  of  extravagant  compliment, 
are  as  obnoxious  to  good  taste  as  the  baneful  practice  of  in¬ 
dulging  badinage ,  or  personal  invective.  To  a  well-balanced 
and  educated  man,  the  cultivated  society  of  the  opposite  sex 
offers  the  highest  possible  attractions ;  for,  in  addition  to  the 
advantages  to  be  derived  from  the  interchange  of  elevated 
thought  and  sentiment,  the  most  fascinating  arts  and  graces  are 
exhibited,  which  exert  a  reciprocal  and  powerful  influence,  im¬ 
parting  a  brilliancy  and  charm  to  everything  that  is  spoken. 
If  to  excel  in  the  art  of  pleasing  be  the  secret  of  success  in 
that  of  conversation,  commend  us  not  infrequently  to  the  re¬ 
fining  elegance  and  challenging  graces  of  educated  women : 
in  such  a  school  of  the  art,  the  pupil  who  should  fail  of 
academic  honors,  would  assuredly  prove  himself  unworthy  to 
share  them.  Among  the  most  delightful  of  mental  recreatives 
may  be  classed  the  exhilarating  pleasures  of  intellectual  inter¬ 
course  ;  they  constitute  the  very  life-fluid  of  our  social  being. 

Authors,  as  a  general  rule,  do  not  shine  with  special  bril¬ 
liancy  in  the  social  firmament ;  no  dazzling  coruscations  of  their 
wit  and  wisdom  burst  upon  us  like  meteoric  showers,  illumining 
the  darkness.  The  biographies  of  men  of  letters  in  a  great 
measure  confirm  this,  and  confirm  also  the  suggestion  of  Haz- 
litt,  where  he  says :  “  Authors  ought  to  be  read,  and  not 


*  Jones  of  Nayland. 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN". 


51 


heard.”  Yet  there  have  been  some  notable  exceptions ;  for 
instance,  Johnson,  Mackintosh,  Sheridan,  Steele,  Swift,  Ma¬ 
caulay,  Robert  Hall,  and  Dickens,  not  forgetting  the  “  golden¬ 
mouthed  ”  Coleridge.  These  were  an  order  of  illustrious  talkers ; 
they  were  as  eloquent  with  their  tongue,  as  with  their  pen. 

Madame  de  Stael  was  as  brilliant  as  she  was  ambitious  in 
conversation.  On  a  certain  occasion  a  person  was  introduced 
to  her,  upon  whom  she  was  anxious  to  make  an  impression. 
Madame  asked  a  thousand  questions,  and  kept  up  such  an  un¬ 
ceasing  flow  of  talk  that  she  forgot  to  wait  for  any  response 
from  her  visitor ;  when  the  interview  was  over,  she  was  asked 
how  she  liked  her  new  acquaintance.  “  Oh,  a  most  delightful 
personage ;  what  wit  and  learning !  ”  was  the  reply,  (the  visi¬ 
tor  was  both  deaf  and  dumb!) 

On  the  other  hand,  most  of  the  eminent  writers  who  have 
made  such  a  noise  in  the  world,  in  past  and  modern  times, 
have  been  mere  mutes  in  the  social  circle.  Such  were,  among 
others,  Goldsmith,  Jeffrey,  Dante,  Alfieri,  Marmontel,  Rous¬ 
seau,  Descartes,  Lafontaine,  Corneille,  Addison,  and  Butler. 
Wit  on  paper  seems  to  be  something  widely  different  from  that 
play  of  words  in  conversation  which,  while  it  sparkles,  dies. 
Charles  II.  was  so  charmed  with  Iludibrm  that  he  sought  an 
introduction,  incognito ,  to  Butler,  its  author ;  he  found  him  so 
dull  and  incommunicative  that  he  said,  at  the  close  of  the  in- 
terview,  he  did  not  believe  so  stupid  a  fellow  could  have  writ¬ 
ten  so  clever  a  book.  Foster,  the  essayist,  speaking  of  Robert 
Hall  and  Coleridge,  said  :  “  Hall  used  language  as  an  emperor. 
He  said  to  his  words,  go,  and  come,  imperially,  and  they 
obeyed  his  bidding.  Coleridge  used  his  words  as  a  necro¬ 
mancer,  so  aerial  and  unearthly  were  their  embodiments  and 
subjects.” 

Sir  William  Temple  has  well  said:  “The  first  ingredient  in 
conversation  is  truth,  the  next,  good  sense,  the  third,  good 


52 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


humor,  and  the  fourth,  wit.”  In  the  same  spirit,  Steele  re¬ 
marks  :  “  Beauty  is  never  so  lovely  as  when  adorned  with  the 
smile;  so  conversation  never  sits  easier  upon  us  than  when 
we  now  and  then  discharge  ourselves  in  a  symphony  of  laugh¬ 
ter,  which  may  not  improperly  be  called  the  chorus  of  conver¬ 
sation.”  But  one  of  the  best  rules  in  conversation  is,  never  to 
say  a  thing  which  any  of  the  company  could  reasonably  wish 
had  not  been  said.  It  is  much  better  to  reflect  before  we 
speak,  than  to  speak  before  we  reflect.  The  tongue  is  a  little 
member,  but  of  prodigious  importance  to  us ;  and  although  it 
is  the  willing  instrument  of  love  or  hate,  of  peace  or  war — yet 
how  many  are  derelict  in  the  duty  of  its  proper  government. 
The  tongue  is  also  an  index  of  character ;  like  the  face,  it  dis¬ 
covers  the  condition — healthy  or  diseased — of  the  mind  as  well 
as  the  body;  its  curative  treatment,  therefore,  should  be  both 
physical  and  metaphysical.  Cato  said :  “  I  think  it  the  first  vir¬ 
tue  to  restrain  the  tongue.”  Sometimes  a  bridle  is  as  needful 
for  the  human  tongue  as  a  bit  for  the  horse’s  mouth,  since 
both  occasionally  require  a  “  check-rein.” 

There  is  another  way  of  looking  at  some  reticent  people — 
such  unimpeachable  persons,  for  instance,  as  Hawthorne,  Ir¬ 
ving,  Prescott,  Tennyson,  and  others  ;  taciturnity  is  pardonable 
— nay,  profitable — with  them,  for  it  means  wisdom.  It  has  been 
said,  “  There  is  no  sociability  like  the  free  companionship  of 
silent  men ;  ”  which  means  that  they  speak  only  when  they  have 
something  to  say.  These  are  they  who  talk  the  least,  and  do 
the  most.  Among  the  reticent,  there  are  also  shades  of  differ¬ 
ence  ;  for  another  variety  might  be  named,  of  which  Thackeray 
and  Theodore  Hook,  Charles  Lamb  and  Hood,  are  illustrations. 
Although  they  were  unrivalled  at  repartee  and  humor  at  the 
club,  yet  at  a  more  public  assemblage  they  rarely  ventured 
speechifying.  Dickens  seems  to  have  been  a  rare  exception  to 
this  peculiarity,  among  the  literati ,  since  he  was  as  prompt  to 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


53 


improvise  a  dinner-speech  as  to  furnish  manuscript  for  the 
printer.  Chaucer  was  more  facetious  in  his  tales  than  in  his 
talk  ;  and  the  Countess  of  Pembroke  used  to  rally  him  by  say¬ 
ing,  that  his  silence  was  more  agreeable  to  her  than  his  conver¬ 
sation.  Drvden  has  confessed  that  he  was  dull  and  saturnine 
in  society ;  and  even  Milton,  with  his  “  arabesque  mind,”  was 
unsocial  and  occasionally  irritable.  It  seems  like  a  psycho¬ 
logical  problem,  that  those  who  have  been  so  amply  endowed 
with  intellectual  gifts  should  be  apparently  so  incapable  of 
imparting  the  benefit  of  their  acquisition  to  others.  Irving, 
however,  gives  a  high  testimony  to  the  social  character  of 
Scott,  a  tribute,  indeed,  that  might  with  equal  propriety  be  ap¬ 
plied  to  himself.  On  his  visit  to  Abbotsford,  he  says  of  Scott : 
“  His  conversation  was  frank,  hearty,  picturesque,  and  dra¬ 
matic.  He  never  talked  for  effect  or  display,  but  from  the 
flow  of  his  spirits,  the  stores  of  his  imagination.  He  was  as 
good  a  listener  as  a  talker  ;  appreciated  everything  that  others 
said,  however  humble  might  be  their  rank  and  pretensions,  and 
was  quick  to  testify  his  perception  of  any  point  in  their  dis¬ 
course.  No  one’s  concerns,  no  one’s  thoughts  and  opinions,  no 
one’s  tastes  and  pleasures,  seemed  beneath  him.  He  made 
himself  so  thoroughly  the  companion  of  those  with  whom  he 
happened  to  be,  that  they  forgot,  for  a  time,  his  vast  superi¬ 
ority,  and  only  recollected  and  wondered,  when  all  was  over, 
that  it  was  Scott  with  whom  they  had  been  on  such  familiar 
terms,  in  whose  society  they  had  felt  so  perfectly  at  ease.” 

Lastly,  we  may  just  briefly  refer  to  a  modern  heresy  in  our 
social  intercourse  caused  by  the  rules  of  etiquette,  which  make 
such  hypocritical  pretences,  that  our  so-called  fashionable  life 
becomes  a  mere  masquerade.  Scarcely  any  one,  in  that 
charmed  circle,  but  acts  his  part  in  a  theatrical  disguise  ;  and 
these  disguises  begin  even  with  the  nursery,  and  continue 
throughout  each  successive  stage  down  to  the  grave.  We  are 


54 


THE  TALKATIVE  AND  THE  TACITURN. 


therefore  not  wliat  we  seem  ;  and  this  is  in  consequence  of  our 
artificial,  conventional  usages,  and  our  surveillance  to  a  false 
code  of  morals.  Are  not  these  delusions  and  deceptions — 
practical  moral  frauds,  and  is  not  our  standard  of,  so  called, 
polite  life  chargeable  with  this  systematic  deceit  ?  TVliy 
should  we  tolerate,  much  less  approve,  deception  in  speech, 
any  more  than  in  heart  and  life  \ 


% 


“  Where  the  end  of  earthly  things 
Lays  heroes,  patriots,  bards,  and  kings  ! 

Where,  stiff  the  hand,  and  still  the  tongue 
Of  those  who  fought,  and  spoke,  and  sung.  1  ” 

Scott. 


Cemeteries  have  been  poetically  styled  the  “  holy  suburbs  of 
the  Celestial  City, — the  border  land  of  that  better  country  that 
lies  beyond  the  river  of  death  !  ”  The  name,  Cemetery ,  is  de¬ 
rived  from  the  Greek,  and  means  a  sleeping  place.  As  opposed 
to  the  Pagan  civilizations,  the  Jews  styled  their  burial-places, — 
Beth  hahaim , — the  house  of  the  living :  and  the  same  idea  of 
repose  or  sleeping  is  indicated  by  the  numerous  inscriptions  of 
the  catacombs.  With  most  of  the  nations  of  Christendom  our 
places  of  sepulture  are  indicated  by  the  symbolic  Cross,  point¬ 
ing  to  a  life  to  come.  The  Germans  designate  their  burial 


56 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


grounds — Gottes-acJcer ,  and  Longfellow  has  beautifully  em¬ 
balmed  the  name  in  melodious  verse. 

» 

4  4  Cod’s  acre  !  yes,  that  blessed  name  imparts 

Comfort  to  those,  who  in  the  grave  have  sown 
The  seed  that  they  had  garnered  in  their  hearts, 

Their  bread  of  life,  alas !  no  more  their  own  !  ” 

These  hallowed  places  have  also  been  styled  “ Silent  CitiesP 

Silent,  indeed,  are  they,  although  peopled  with  multitudes  of 

/ 

forms  once  beautiful  and  surprised  with  life  and  vocal  with  the 
music  of  human  speech.  Even  the  sweet  prattle  of  infancy, 
and  the  tender  responses  of  a  mothers  enduring  love  are  now 
no  longer  heard.  Alas !  all  voices  are  hushed  in  the  unbroken 
stillness  of  death !  Yet  there  is  a  mystic  voice  from  the  tomb 
that  comes  to  the  heart  sweeter  than  song.  “  There  is  a  fond 
remembrance  of  the  dead,  to  which  we  turn,  even  from  the 
charms  of  the  living.”  It  is  this  hallowed  bond  that  links  the 
living  with  the  dead,  in  perpetual  memory ;  we  pay  our  accus¬ 
tomed  visits  to  the  sleeping  forms  of  our  departed  ones,  as  we 
do  to  those  who'  still  lend  the  light  of  their  smiles,  and  the  mu 
sic  of  their  kindly  speech  to  bless  our  earthly  life.  We  love  to 
make  pilgrimages  to  these  shrines  of  our  affection. 

There  is  scarcely  any  subject  of  more  touching  interest,  or 
one  that  awakens  a  deeper  sympathy  in  the  human  heart.  If 
we  may  not  hold  intercourse  with  the  venerated  dead,  the  mind 
is  instinctively  beguiled  into  a  reverie  so  irresistibly  bewitching, 
that  we  seem  to  share  a  silent  colloquy  with  our  loved  and  lost 
ones.  We  chant  with  Campbell, 

44  That’s  hallowed  ground  where,  mourned  and  missed, 

The  lips  repose  our  love  has  kissed  ; 

Bat  where’s  their  memory’s  mansion  ?  Is’t 
Yon  churchyard  bowers  ? 

No  !  in  ourselves  their  souls  exist, 

A  part  of  ours.” 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


57 


Our  thoughts  are  evermore  tending  to  the  grave  and  its  mys¬ 
teries  ;  and,  like  our  past  hours,  troop  onward,  often  unbidden, 
to  the  day  when  we,  too,  shall  attain  to  the  realm  of  the  un¬ 
known.  Some  of  our  greatest  poems,  indeed,  are  monodies 
and  elegiac  refrains  :  yet  with  the  cheering  Christian  philoso¬ 
phy  of  Wordsworth,  we  need  not  hang  our  harps  upon  the  wil¬ 
lows;  for 

“  Sin-blighted  though  we  are,  we,  too,  the  reasoning  sons  of  men, 

From  our  oblivious  winter  called,  shall  rise  and  breathe  again  ; 

And,  in  eternal  summer,  lose  our  three-score  years  and  ten  !  ” 

The  academic  groves  of  Greece  were  made,  in  part,  the 
resting-places  of  their  honored  dead.  Amid  these  leafy  shades, 
sacred  to  learning  and  philosophy,  they  buried  their  heroes  and 
poets.  In  these  hallowed  precincts  Plato  and  his  pupils  were 
accustomed  to  convene.  The  first  place  of  worship  in  the 
Acropolis  of  Athens  was  the  sepulchre  of  Cecrops.  It  may  be 
fairly  inferred,  that  the  tombs  of  the  Athenians  were  the  origin 
of  their  temples. 

The  Romans  frequently  buried  their  dead  on  either  side  of 
the  Appian  Way,  and  over  their  tombs  they  were  accustomed 
to  place  the  monumental  urn.  Decking  the  graves  of  the 
deceased  with  flowers,  was  a  custom  observed  among  the 
Greeks  and  Romans. 

“  In  olden  time  no  blossoms  were  planted  where  the  dead 
were  sleeping,  and  no  grounds  were  laid  out  with  mounds, 
ravines,  and  running  streams.  The  place  was  only  a  e  grave¬ 
yard,’  surrounded  with  a  rough  stone-wall,  within  which  bushes 
and  brambles  grew  in  rank  luxuriance.  But  to-day,  the  army 
of  flowers,  with  its  bright  and  beautiful  banners,  has  charged 
upon  the  thorny  hosts  of  bramble,  bush,  and  briar,  and  driving 
them  from  c  God’s  acre,’  has  set  a  guard  of  statuary  at  the  gates 
of  the  cemetery.”  * 


*  J.  II.  Smith. 


58 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


The  fragrant  flowers,  symbolic  of  undying  affection,  and  of 
a  resurrection — life,  make  an  eloquent  and  persuasive  appeal 
to  bereaved  and  sorrowing  hearts. 

It  is  a  custom  fraught  with  the  most  delightful  associations ; 
and  induces  an  elevation  of  sentiment  and  a  poetry  of  feeling, 
equally  calculated  to  mollify  our  grief,  and  to  invest  the  sep¬ 
ulchre  with  the  kindling  emotions  of  hope  and  immortality. 

“  We  adorn  our  graves,”  says  Evelyn,  “  with  flowers  and  re¬ 
dolent  plants,  just  emblems  of  the  life  of  man,  which  has  been 
compared  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  to  those  fading  beauties, 
whose  roots,  being  buried  in  dishonor,  rise  again  in  glory.” 

‘  ‘  Those  token  flowers  that  tell 
What  words  could  never  speak  so  well,” 

in  earlier  times  were  rendered  peculiarly  expressive  of  the  cir¬ 
cumstances  of  the  deceased ;  for  example,  at  the  funeral  of  a 
young  girl,  the  chaplet-wreath  of  white  roses  was  borne  by  one 
of  her  own  sex  and  age  before  the  corpse,  the  token  of  virgin 
purity  and  innocence,  and  afterwards  hung  over  her  accus¬ 
tomed  seat  at  the  church.  The  rose  was  also  sometimes 
blended  with  the  lily,  as  the  emblem  of  frail  mortality ;  the 
red  rose  for  such  as  had  been  remarkable  for  benevolence; 
and  when  it  was  intended  to  betoken  the  hapless  loves  or  sor¬ 
rows  of  the  departed,  the  yew  and  cypress  w’ere  used.  These 
simple  floral  rites  seem  to  belong  to  the  past  rather  than  the 
present ;  and  yet  instinctively  the  heart  fondly  clings  to  them, 
and  interprets  their  sentiment.  The  stately  tomb  or  sculptured 
mausoleum  may  impress  the  eye  of  the  beholder  by  their  artis¬ 
tic  splendor  and  magnificence  ;  but  those  token  flowers,  so  fra¬ 
grant  and  so  fair,  make  their  modest  yet  eloquent  appeal  to  the 
heart  of  our  common  humanity  with  a  power  and  pathos  that 
is  irresistible.  How  daintily  does  our  great  dramatist  detail 
their  uses : 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


59 


“With  fairest  flowers, 

Whilst  summer  lasts,  and  I  live  here,  Fidele, 

I’ll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave  ;  thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower  that’s  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose,  nor 
The  azured  harebell,  like  thy  veins ;  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine ;  whom  not  to  slander, 

Outsweetened  not  thy  breath.  ” 

Where  is  the  heart,  in  its  gnshings  of  sorrow,  that  would  not 
as  the  unbidden  tear  bedews  the  sainted  grave,  yield  to  such 
spontaneous  offerings  of  affection,  and  bind  an  osier  round  the 
sod  ?  Who  would  not  say,  with  Miss  Landon,  “  It  may  be  a 
weakness,  though  growing  out  of  all  that  is  most  redeeming  in 
our  nature — the  desire  that  is  in  us,  to  make  the  city  of  the  de¬ 
parted  beautiful,  as  well  as  sacred.  The  green  yew  that  flings 
down  its  shadow,  the  wild  flowers  that  spring  up  in  the  long 
grass,  take  away  from  the  desolation ;  they  are  the  type  and 
sign  of  a  world  beyond  themselves.  Even  as  spring  brings 
back  the  leaf  to  the  bough,  the  blossom  to  the  grass,  so  will  a 
more  glorious  spring  return  to  that  which  is  now  but  a  little 
human  dust.” 

It  is  good  to  be  sometimes  reminded  of  death,  and  the 
grave.  A  memento  mori  is  not  necessarily  sad  and  forbid¬ 
ding,  nor  is  the  dirge-note  always  a  fearful  sound  ;  for  to  the 
mind  rightly  trained  and  constituted,  they  speak  of  a  blissful 
hereafter,  and  a  glorified  existence,  for  which  this  is  but  a 
state  of  preparation.  Knowing  and feeling  this,  we  may  stand 
in  the  church-yard  without  awe  or  dread, -and  looking  through 
death’s  open  portals  into  the  regions  of  everlasting  happiness 
beyond,  exclaim : 

“  The  first  tabernacle  to  Hope  we  will  build. 

And  look  for  tbe  sleepers  around  us  to  rise  ; 

The  second  to  Faith,  which  ensures  it  fulfilled  ; 

And  the  third  to  the  Lamb  of  the  great  Sacrifice, 

Who  bequeathed  us  them  both  when  He  rose  to  the  skies.” 


60 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


ft. 

The  Christian  faith  is  variously  symbolized  by  the  sacred 
Palm,  as  emblematic  of  victory, — the  Immortelle,  of  eternal 
life,— the  Anchor,  of  hope, — the  Psyche,  or  winged  insect  rising 
from  the  chrysalis,  as  typical  of  the  resurrection  ;  and  the 
Cross,  as  the  perpetual  emblem  of  the  Christian’s  earthly  con¬ 
flict  and  ultimate  triumph. 

But  a  truce  to  the  homily  ;  let  us  now  look  at  a  few  of  the 
memorial  records,  which  have  been  collected  from  various  dis¬ 
tant  districts  of  the  dead.  It  was  first  said,  by  the  great  Napo¬ 
leon, — and  it  has  been  often  repeated, — “  it  is  but  a  step  from 
the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous” — and  this  has  been  not  unfre- 
quently  verified  by  the  writers  of  epitaphs.  As  we  con  over 
the  absurd  conceits,  poor  puns,  and  fulsome  eulogies  that  sc* 
often  disfigure  the  resting-places  of  the  departed,  we  almost 
wonder  that  the  very  stones  do  not  cry  out  agaidst  the  folly. 
IVhat  think  you,  good  reader,  of  the  groupings  here  subjoined? 
Prom  Childwaid  church-yard,  England,  this  is  copied  : 

‘  ‘  Here  lies  me  and  my  three  daughters, 

Brought  here  by  using  Seidlitz  waters ; 

If  we  had  stuck  to  Epsom  salts, 

We  wouldn't  have  been  in  these  here  vaults.” 

In  Norwich  cathedral,  is  the  following  laconic  intimation  : 

“  Here  lies  the  body  of  honest  Tom  Page, 

Who  died  in  the  thirty-third  year  of  his  age.  ” 

In  Islington  church-yard,  near  London,  may  be  seen  this  dog¬ 
gerel  triplet : 

“  Pray  for  the  soul  of  Gabriel  John, 

Who  died  in  the  year  1601  : — 

Or  if  you  don’t,  it  is  all  one.” 

The  following  absurd  lines  are  said  to  be  copied  from  a 
gravestone  at  Nettlebed  church-yard,  Oxfordshire: 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


61 


“  Here  lies  father,  and  mother,  and  sister,  and  I, 

We  all  died  within  the  space  of  one  short  year ; 

They  be  all  buried  at  Wimble,  except  I, 

And  I  be  buried  here.” 

From  a  gravestone  at  Northallerton,  England,  comes  the  fol¬ 
lowing  : 

“  Hicjacet  Walter  Gun, 

Sometime  landlord  of  the  Sun  ; 

Sic  transit  gloria  mundi! 

He  drank  hard  upon  Friday, 

That  being'  a  high  day — 

Then,  took  to  his  bed,  and  died  upon  Sunday.” 

Here  is  another  desperate  specimen  of  punning  upon  a 
name ;  it  is  upon  the  tomb  of  William  More,  at  Stepney,  near 
London : 


“  Here  lies  one  More,  and  no  more  than  he  ; 

One  More,  and  no  more,  how  can  that  be  ? 

Why  one  More,  and  no  more,  may  lie  here  alone, 

But  here  lies  one  more,  and  that’s  more  than  one.” 

On  the  organist  of  St.  Mary  Winton  College,  Oxford  : 

“  Here  lies  one  blown  out  of  breath, 

Who  lived  a  merry  life,  and  died  a  Merideth  !  ” 

In  Biddeford  church-yard,  Devonshire,  is,  or  was,  the  follow¬ 
ing  elegantly  printed  inscription,  upon  a  certain  luckless  swain, 
w^hose  name  is  not  given  : 

“  The  wedding-day  appointed  was, 

And  wedding-clothes  provided, 

But  ere  that  day  did  come,  alas  ! 

He  sickened,  and  he  die  did  !  ” 

A  still  swifter  summons  seems  to  have  been  sent  bv  the 

«/ 

“King  of  Terrors”  to  another,  whose  record  in  the  church-yard 
of  Seven  Oaks,  Kent,  reads  as  follows  : 


62 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


“  Grim  Deatli  took  me  without  any  warning, 

•  I  was  well  at  night,  and  dead  at  nine  in  the  morning  !  ” 

From  the  same  county,  the  following  has  been  copied  : 

“  Here  lies  the  body  of  Sarah  Sexton, 

Who  was  a  good  wife,  and  never  vexed  one : 

I  can’t  say  that  for  her,  at  the  next  stone  !  ” 

This  equivocal  compliment  referred  to  his  first  wife  !  The 
next  epitaph  has  an  infusion  of  common  sense  in  it ;  it  is  cop¬ 
ied  from  Guildford  church-yard : 

“  Reader,  pass  on,  ne’er  waste  your  time 
On  bad  biography,  and  silly  rhyme  ; 

For  what  I  am ,  this  cumbrous  clay  ensures, 

And  what  I  was,  is  no  affair  of  yours.” 

At  Bury  St.  Edmund’s,  Suffolk,  there  was  an  old  tombstone 
with  this  unceremonious  inscription  : 

“  Here  lies  Jane  Kitchen, 

Who  when  her  glass  was  spent, 

She  kick’t  up  her  heels 
And  away  she  went.” 

In  Walford  church-yard,  Warwickshire,  is  the  following  on 
John  Band  all : 

u  Here  old  John  Randall  lies,  who  counting  by  his  sale, 

Lived  three  score  years  and  ten,  such  virtue  was  in  ale  ; 

Ale  was  his  meat,  ale  was  his  drink,  ale  did  his  heart  revive, 

And  could  he  still  have  drunk  his  ale,  he  still  had  been  alive.  ” 

In  St.  Margaret’s,  Westminster,  is  the  following  inscription 
to  the  memory  of  Thomas  Churchyard,  Laureate  to  Henry 
VII. : 

•£  Come,  Alecto,  and  lend  me  thy  torch, 

To  find  a  church-yard  in  a  church  porch ; 

Povertie  and  poetrie  this  tomb  doth  enclose, — 

Therefore,  gentlemen,  be  merrie  in  prose.” 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


Go 


This  expressive  epitaph  is  taken  from  the  old  church-yard  at 
Belturbet,  Ireland  : 

“  Here  lies  John  Higley,  whose  father  and  mother  were 
drowned  in  their  passage  from  America. 

Had  they  both  lived ,  they  icould  have  been  buried  here  !  ” 

In  St.  Michael’s  church-yard.  Crooked  lane,  London,  is  the 
following  laconic  record : 

‘  ‘  Here  lieth,  wrapped  in  clay, 

The  body  of  William  Wray  ; — 

I  have  no  more  to  say  !  ” 

The  following  admonitory  voice  from  a  tomb  in  Thetford 
church-yard,  Xorfolk,  will  at  least  be  perused  with  interest  by 
the  advocates  of  temperance : 

“My  grandfather  lies  buried  here, 

My  cousin  Jane,  and  two  uncles  dear  ; 

My  father  perished  with  an  inflammation  in  his  eyes, 

My  sister  dropt  down  dead  in  the  Minories  ; 

But  the  reason  why  I’m  here  interred,  according  to  my  thinking, 

Is  owing  to  my  good  living  and  hard  drinking  ! 

Therefore,  good  people,  if  you  wish  to  live  long, 

Don’t  drink  too  much  wine,  brandy,  gin,  or  anything  strong.  ” 

In  the  church-yard  of  Chigwell,  Essex,  England,  is  the  fol¬ 
lowing  inscription : 

“  This  disease  you  ne’er  heard  tell  on, 

I  died  by  eating  too  much  melon ; 

Be  careful,  then,  all  you  that  feed, — I 
Suffered  because  I  was  too  greedy.” 


Ilere  is  an  epitaph  upgn  a  desperate  toper,  in  a  church-yard, 
at  Durham,  England : 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


G4 


“  Beneath  these  stones  repose  the  bones 
Of  Theodosius  Grimm, 

He  took  his  beer  from  year  to  year, 

And  then  his  bier  took  him.” 

Over  the  grave  where  Shakspeare’s  dust  reposes,  is  inscribed 
the  following  well-known  quaint  adjuration: 

“  Good  friend,  for  Jesvs’  sake  forbeare, 

To  digge  the  dvst  encloased  heare ; 

Blest  be  ye  man  yt  spares  thes  stones, 

And  cvrst  be  he  yt  moves  my  bones.” 

From  Handon  church-yard,  England,  comes  the  following : 

“  Beneath  this  stone,  Tom  Crossfield  lies, 

Who  cares  not  now  who  laughs  or  cries  ; 

He  laughed  when  sober,  and  when  mellow, 

Was  a  harum-scarum  harmless  fellow  ; 

He  gave  to  none  designed  offence, 

So — ‘  Honisoitqui  mal  y  jpense!  ’  ” 

The  subjoined  is  copied  from  an  old  church-yard  at  Llan- 
flantwthyl,  Wales : 

“  Under  this  stone  lies  Meredith  Morgan, 

Who  blew  the  bellows  of  our  church  organ  ; 

Tobacco  he  hated,  to  smoke  most  unwilling, 

Yet  never  so  pleased  as  when  pipes  he  was  filling; 

No  reflection  on  him  for  rude  speech  could  be  cast, 

Though  he  made  our  old  organ  give  many  a  blast. 

No  puffer  was  he,  though  a  capital  blower, 

He  could  fill  double  G,  and  now  lies  a  note  lower.'1’ 

The  following  is  certainly  calculated  to  repress  inquisitive¬ 
ness  : 

Here  lies  Pat.  Steele, — that’s  very  thrue  ; 

Who  was  he  ?  "What  was  he  ?  What’s  that  to  you  ?  ” 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


05 


Byron,  it  is  said,  wrote  the  following  lines  on  John  Adams, 
carrier,  of  Southwell : 

“John  Adams  lies  here,  of  the  parish  of  Southwell, 

A  carrier,  who  carried  the  can  to  his  mouth  well ; 

He  carried  so  much,  and  he  carried  so  fast, 

He  could  carry  no  more,  so  was  carried  at  last ; 

For  the  liquor  he  drank  being  too  much  for  one, 

He  could  not  carry  off,  so  he’s  now  carri-on  !  ” 

In  St.  Michael’s  clmrch-yard,  Aberystwith,  is  the  following 
professional  tribute  to  David  Davies,  blacksmith  : 

“  My  sledge  and  hammer  lay  reclined, 

My  bellows,  too,  have  lost  their  wind, 

Mj  fires  extinct,  my  forge  decayed, 

And  in  the  dust,  my  vice  is  laid ; 

My  coal  is  spent,  my  iron  gone, 

My  nails  are  drove, — my  work  is  done.” 

In  Selby  church-yard,  Yorkshire,  is  the  following  memorial 
to  one  Miles : 

1 1  This  tombstone  is  a  milestone,  ah !  how  so  ? 

Because,  beneath  lies  Miles ,  who’s  miles  below !” 

At  Cray  ford  church-yard,  Kent,  may  be  seen  the  following, 
( n  the  tomb  of  Peter  Snell,  for  thirty-five  years  Parish  Clerk  : 

“  The  life  of  this  clerk  was  just  three-score  and  ten, 

Nearly  half  of  which  time  he  had  sang  out,  amen ! 

In  his  youth  he  married,  like  other  young  men ; 

But  his  wife  died  one  day — so  he  chaunted — amen  ! 

A  second  he  took, — she  departed  ; — what  then  ? 

He  married,  and  buried  a  third,  with — amen ! 

Thus  his  joys  and  his  sorrows  were  treble,  but  then — 

His  voice  was  deep  bass  as  he  sang  out — amen. 

On  the  horn  he  could  blow,  as  well  as  most  men, 

So  ‘  his  horn  was  exalted,’  in  blowing  — amen  ! 

He  lost  all  his  wind,  after  three-score  and  ten, 

And  here,  with  three  wives,  he  waits,  till  again 
The  trumpet  shall  rouse  him,  to  sing  out  amen  !  ” 


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CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


At  Gateshead  church-yard,  Newcastle,  is  the  following: 

“  Here  lies  Robert  Trollop, 

Who  made  yon  stones  roll  up, 

When  Death  took  his  soul  up 
His  body  filled  this  hole  up.” 

In  the  grounds  of  Winchester  cathedral,  is  the  following 
epitaph  to  the  memory  of  Thomas  Fletcher  : 

44  Here  sleeps  in  peace  a  Hampshire  grenadier, 

Who  caught  his  death  by  drinking  cold  small  beer ; 

Soldiers,  be  wise,  from  his  untimely  fall, 

And,  when  you’re  hot,  drink  strong  or  not  at  all.” 

In  Doncaster  church-yard — (1816) ! — 

4 4  Here  lies  2  brothers,  by  misf ortin  serounded, 

One  died  of  his  wounds,  and  the  other  was  drownded.” 

At  St.  Giles’,  Cripplegate,  London,  is  the  following  poor 
attempt  at  punning  : 

44  Under  this  marble  fair 
Lies  the  body  entombed  of  Gervaise  Aire  : 

He  dyed  not  of  an  ague  fit, 

Nor  surfeited  by  too  much  wit. 

Methinks  this  was  a  wondrous  death, 

That  Aire  should  die  for  want  of  breath.” 

In  Gloucester  church-yard,  it  is  said,  may  be  seen  the  follow¬ 
ing: 

4  4  Two  lovelier  babes  ye  ne’er  did  see 
Than  God  Almighty  gave  to  we  ; 

But  they  were  taken  with  ague  fits, 

And  there  they  lies  as  dead  as  nits.” 

As  a  relief  to  the  ludicrous  specimens,  just  offered,  we  now 
turn  to  that  splendid  epitaph  written,  not  as  it  had  long  been 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


67 


believed,  by  Ben  Jonson,  but  by  Browne,  author  of  “  Britan¬ 
nia?  s  Pastor  alsP  We  refer  to  the  inscription  on  the  tomb  of 
the  Countess  of  Pembroke  : 

“  Underneath  this  sable  hearse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse, 

Sidney’s  sister,  Pembroke’s  mother ; 

Death,  ere  thou  hast  slain  another 
Fair  and  learned,  and  good  as  she, 

Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee.” 

*  *  * 


Ben  Jonson  wrote,  however,  this  remarkable  epitaph  on 
Elizabeth  L.  II. : 

“  Wouldst  thou  hear  what  man  can  say 
In  a  little  ?  Reader,  stay. 

Underneath  this  stone  doth  lie 
As  much  beauty  as  could  die ; 

Which  in  life  did  harbour  give 
To  more  virtue  than  doth  live  ; 

If,  at  all,  she  had  a  fault, 

Leave  it  buried  in  this  vault. 

One  name  was  Elizabeth, 

Th’  other,  let  it  sleep  with  death ; 

Fitter,  where  it  died,  to  tell, 

Than  that  it  lived  at  all, — farewell.” 

One  of  the  finest  epitaphs  in  our  language  is  Collins’ : 

“  How  sleep  the  brave,  who  sink  to  rest, 

By  all  their  country’s  wishes  blest ! 

When  spring,  with  dewy  fingers  cold, 

Returns  to  deck  their  hallowed  mould ; 

She  there  shall  dress  a  sweeter  sod, 

Than  Fancy’s  feet  have  ever  trod. 

By  fairy  hands  their  knell  is  rung  ; 

By  forms  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung ; 

There  Honor  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 

To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay  ; 


G8 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


And  Freedom  shall  awhile  repair, 

To  dwell  a  weeping  hermit  there  !  ” 

In  an  epitaph  on  a  marine  at  Chichester,  the  writer  has  made 
an  adroit  turn  from  mortal  to  spiritual  warfare : 

“  Here  lies  a  true  soldier,  whom  all  must  applaud, 

Much  hardship  he  suffered  at  home  and  abroad  ; 

But  the  hardest  engagement  he  ever  was  in, 

Was  the  battle  of  self  in  the  conquest  of  sin  !  ” 

Every  one  knows  (or  ought  to  know)  Mason’s  fine  epitaph 
on  his  young  wife,  in  Bristol  Cathedral : 

“  Take,  holy  earth,  all  that  my  soul  holds  dear ! 

Take  that  best  gift,  which  Heaven  so  lately  gave  ! 

To  Bristol’s  fount  I  bore  with  trembling  care 
Her  faded  form  :  she  bowed  to  taste  the  wave — 

And  died !  ” 

One  of  the  finest  homilies  on  riches  ever  given  was  the 
epitaph  written  in  Latin,  in  1579,  on  John  of  Doncaster;  we 
give  the  translation : 

“  What  I  spent,  I  had, 

What  I  gave,  I  have, 

What  I  saved,  I  lost.” 

This  epitaph  was  inscribed  on  the  tombstone  of  Joe  Miller — 
the  individual  who  is  made  responsible  for  such  multitudes  of 
poor  jokes — who  died  in  1738,  and  was  buried  in  the  church¬ 
yard  of  St.  Clement  Danes : 

“  If  humor,  wit,  and  honesty  could  save 
The  humorous,  witty,  honest,  from  the  grave, 

The  grave  had  not  so  soon  this  tenant  found, 

Whom  honesty,  and  wit,  and  humor  crowned. 

Or  could  esteem  and  love  preserve  our  breath, 

And  guard  us  longer  from  the  stroke  of  death, — 

The  stroke  of  death  on  him  had  later  fell, 

Whom  all  mankind  esteemed  and  loved  so  well.” 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


69 


Charles  Lamb,  when  young,  was  walking  in  a  church-yard 
with  his  sister,  and  noting  the  eulogistic  character  of  the 

y  O  O 

epitaphs,  said,  “  Mary,  where  do  the  naughty  people  lie  ?  ” 
That  question  has  not,  we  believe,  been  answered. 

Garrick’s  epitaph  on  Quin,  in  the  Abbey  Church,  at  Bath, 
has  not  often  been  exceeded  : 

“  The  tongue  which  set  the  table  in  a  roar, 

And  charmed  the  public  ear,  is  heard  no  more  ! 

Closed  are  those  eyes,  the  harbingers  of  wit, 

Which  spake  before  the  tongue  what  Shakspeare  writ. 

Cold  is  that  hand,  which  ever  was  stretched  forth, 

At  friendship’s  call,  to  succor  modest  worth. 

Here  lies  James  Quin  ! — Deign,  reader,  to  be  taught, 

Whate’er  thy  strength  of  body,  force  of  thought ; 

In  Nature’s  happiest  mould,  however  cast, 

To  this  complexion  thou  must  come  at  last !  ” 

Brief  monumental  inscriptions  are,  after  all,  the  most  elo¬ 
quent.  What  can  exceed  that  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  in  St. 
Paul’s  Cathedral,  of  which  he  was  the  well-known  architect : 

‘  ‘  Lector,  si  monumentum  requiris,  circumspice  !  ” 

and  we  might  add  that  to  the  memory  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  : 

“  Isaacum  Newton  quern  immortalem  Testantur  tempus,  natura,  ccelum, 
mortalem  hoc  marmor  Fatetur  !  ”  . 

In  the  jchurch-yard  of  St.  Anne,  Soho,  London,  is  the  follow¬ 
ing  curious  epitaph  on  Theodore,  King  of  Corsica,  one  of  the 
“Monarchs  retired  from  business  ;  ”  it  is  from  the  pen  of  Hor¬ 
ace  Walpole  :  “Near  this  place  is  interred  Theodore,  King  of 
Corsica,  who  died  in  this  parish,  December  11,  1756  ;  im¬ 
mediately  after  leaving  the  King’s  Bench  prison,  by  the  bene¬ 
fits  of  the  act  of  Insolvency ;  in  consequence  he  registered  his 
kingdom  of  Corsica  for  the  use  of  his  creditors. 


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CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


u  The  Grave,  great  teacher,  to  a  level  brings 
Heroes  and  beggars,  galley-slaves  and  kings  ; 

But  Theodore  this  moral  learned,  ere  dead  ; 

Fate  poured  its  lessons  on  his  living  head, 

Bestowed  a  kingdom,  and  denied  him  bread.  ” 

From  Cunwallow  church-yard,  Cornwall,  is  taken  the  fol¬ 
lowing  inscription,  which  may  be  read  in  four  different  ways, 
up  or  down,  backwards  or  forwards  : 

u  Shall  we  all  die  ? 

We  shall  die  all ! 

All  die  shall  we, 

Die  all  we  shall.” 

The  pithy  epitaph  on  Dr.  Walker,  author  of  a  work  on 
“  English  Particles,”  reads  thus  : 

‘  ‘  Here  lie  Walker’s  particles  ”  ! 

and  that  on  Fuller,  author  of  “  English  Worthies,”  and  other 
works,  is : 

“  Here  lies  Fuller’s  earth”  ! 

Garrick’s  celebrated  epitaph  on  Hogarth,  in  Chiswick 
church-yard,  is  as  follows  : 

“  Farewell,  great  painter  of  mankind, 

Who  reached  the  noblest  point  of  art  ! 

Whose  pictured  morals  charm  the  mind, 

And  through  the  eye  correct  the  heart ! 

If  genius  fire  thee,  reader,  stay — 

* 

If  Nature  touch  thee,  drop  a  tear  ! 

If  neither  move  thee,  turn  away, 

For  Hogarth’s  honored  dust  lies  here  !  ” 

As  a  specimen  of  the  terse  and  suggestive,  we  offer  the 
epitaph  found  in  Torrington  church-yard,  Devon  : 

‘  ‘  She  was — but  words  are  wanting  to  say  what : 

Think  what  a  woman  should  be — she  was  that.” 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


71 


In  Llangowen  cliurch-yard,  Wales,  is  this  quaiut,  admonitory 
inscription : 

“  Our  life  is  but  a  summer’s  day — 

Some  only  breakfast,  and  away. 

Others  to  dinner  stay,  and  are  full  fed  ; 

The  oldest  man  but  sups  and  goes  to  bed. 

Large  his  account,  who  lingers  out  the  day  ; 

Who  goes  the  soonest,  has  the  least  to  pay  !  ” 

In  the  church-yard  of  Evesham,  in  Oxfordshire,  is  the  fol¬ 
lowing  tribute,  u  To  ye  memory  of  her  dear  husband,  Mr. 
John  Green,  gent.  1652  ” : 

“  Stay,  reader,  drop  upon  this  stone 
One  pitying  tear,  and  then  begone  ! 

A  handsome  pile  of  flesh  and  blood 
Is  here  sunk  down  to  its  first  mud ; 

"Which  thus  in  Western  rubbish  lies, 

Until  the  Eastern  Star  shall  rise.” 

At  Trenton,  New  Jersey,  there  may  be  seen  the  following 
beautifully  expressive  lines,  inscribed  over  the  tomb  of  Mrs. 
Mary  Dud  bar,  who  died  in  1808  : 

“  The  meed  of  merit  ne’er  shall  die, 

Nor  modest  worth  neglected  lie. 

The  fame  that  pious  virtue  gives, 

The  Memphian  monuments  outlives. 

Reader,  wouldst  thou  secure  such  praise, 

G-o,  learn  Religion’s  pleasant  ways.” 

Franklin’s  famous  epitaph,  so  often  printed,  was  probably 
suggested  to  his  mind,  after  his  recovery  from  the  severe 
attack  of  pleurisy,  in  1729.  The  following  is  a  correct  copy  : 
“The  body  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  printer,  (like  the  cover  of 
an  old  book,  its  contents  torn  out,  and  stript  of  its  lettering 
and  gilding,)  lies  here  food  for  worms  !  Yet  the  work  itself 


72 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


shall  not  be  lost,  for  it  will,  as  lie  believed,  appear  once  more, 
in  a  new  and  more  beautiful  edition,  corrected  and  amended 
by  The  Author.”  This  ingenious  inscription  has  frequently 
been  imitated. 

Perhaps  the  most  witty  and  satirical  of  all  epitaphs  is  that 
one  in  Bath  cathedral,  which  must  be  almost  sufficient  to 
frighten  some  nervous  invalids  from  the  city  : 

‘  ‘  These  walls,  adorned  with  monumental  bust, 

Show  how  Bath  waters  serve  to  lay  the  dust.” 

Willis  thus  poetically  pictures  to  us  the  burial  place  of 
Shelley  and  Keats :  “  With  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  most 

delicious  air  ever  breathed,  we  sat  down  upon  the  marble  slab 
laid  over  the  ashes  of  poor  Shelley,  and  read  his  own  lament 
over  Keats,  who  sleeps  just  below,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The 
cemetery  is  rudely  formed  into  three  terraces,  with  walks 
between ;  and  Shelley’s  grave,  and  one  without  a  name,  occupy 
a  small  nook  above,  made  by  the  projection  of  a  mouldering 
wall-tower,  and  crowded  with  ivy  and  shrubs,  and  a  peculiarly 
fragrant  yellow  flower,  which  perfumes  the  air  around  for 
several  feet.  The  avenue  by  which  you  ascend  from  the  gate 
is  lined  with  high  bushes  of  the  marsh-rose,  in  the  most 
luxuriant  bloom,  and  all  over  the  cemetery  the  grass  is  thickly 
mingled  with  flowers  of  every  hue.”  In  his  preface  to  his 
lament  over  Keats,  Shelley  says :  “  He  was  buried  in  the 

romantic  and  lovely  Cemetery  of  the  Protestants ;  under  the 
pyramid  which  is  the  tomb  of  Astius,  and  the  massy  walls  and 
towers,  now  mouldering  and  desolate,  which  formed  the  circuit 
of  ancient  Koine.  It  is  an  open  space  among  the  ruins,  cov¬ 
ered  in  winter  with  violets  and  daisies.  It  might  make  one  in 
love  with  death  to  think  that  one  should  be  buried  in  so  sweet 
agjlacel  If  Shelley  had  chosen  his  own  grave  at  the  time,  he 


r 


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73 


would  have  selected  the  very  spot  where  he  has  since  been 
laid — the  most  sequestered  and  flowery  nook  of  the  place  he 
describes  so  feelingly.  In  the  last  verses  of  the  elegy,  he 
speaks  of  it  again  with  the  same  feeling  of  its  beauty  : 

“  Co  thou  to  Rome, — at  once  the  Paradise, 

The  grave,  the  city,  and  the  -wilderness ; 

And  where  its  wrecks  like  shattered  mountains  rise, 

And  flowering  weeds  and  fragrant  copses  dress 
The  bones  of  Desolation’s  nakedness, 

Pass,  till  the  spirit  of  the  spot  shall  lead 
Thy  footsteps  to  a  slope  of  green  access, 

Where,  like  an  infant's  smile,  over  the  dead 
A  light  of  laughing  flowers  along  the  grass  is  spread.” 

\ 

The  cemetery  at  Stoke  Newington  acquires  peculiar  interest 
from  the  circumstance  of  its  having  been  formed  in  Abney 
Park,  where  Dr.  Watts  so  frequently  strolled  during  his  long 
residence  at  the  hospitable  mansion  of  Sir  Thomas  Abney. 
The  west  of  London,  and  Westminster  Cemetery,  differ  from  all 
the  modern  burial  places  around  the  metropolis.  The  grounds 
are  very  beautifully  laid  out  in  the  Italian  style :  its  chapel, 
monuments,  and  other  buildings,  are  very  imposing.  The  en¬ 
closure,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ilighgate,  is  the  North  Lon¬ 
don  Cemetery.  Its  leading  feature  is  a  small  chapel,  with  an 
octangular  and  ornamental  dome.  A  beautiful  window  of 
painted  glass,  representing  the  ascension  of  our  Saviour,  adorns 
its  extremity.  Column,  pyramid,  sarcophagus,  tomb,  vase,  and 
sculptured  stone,  arrest  the  eye,  while  a  gigantic  mound  is  seen 
canopied  with  a  goodly  cedar ;  and  the  beautiful  Gothic  church 
crowning  the  brow  of  the  hill,  with  its  heaven-directed  spire, 
peers  above  the  upper  verge  of  this  sainted  place  of  graves. 
Beauty  and  death  appear,  in  this  lovely  spot,  to  have  entered 
into  a  compact  together. 

£  unhill-fields  burial  ground,  London,  has  been  called  the 


74 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


“  Campo  Santo  55  of  the  dissenters  ;  since  the  ashes  of  the  great 
Non-conformist  clergy  and  friends  of  civil  liberty  repose  there. 
Among  memorable  names  recorded  there  are  those  of  Bunyan, 
He  Foe,  General  Fleetwood,  Owen,  Goodwin,  and  Watts,  the 
hymnist,  with  an  innumerable  company  of  others  of  cherished 
memory.  Kensall  Green  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  ceme¬ 
teries  of  the  British  metropolis. 

The  great  cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise  was  consecrated  as  a 
public  place  of  sepulture  in  1804 :  it  derived  its  present  name 
from  the  favorite  confessor  to  Louis  XIY.  and  Madame  de 
Maintenon.  Within  its  boundaries  formerly  stood  an  establish¬ 
ment  belonging  to  the  Jesuits,  called  the  “  Maison  de  Mont 
Louis.”  Subsequently,  1763,  on  the  suppression  of  the  order, 
the  estate  was  sold,  and  passing  into  the  hands  of  the  public  au¬ 
thorities,  it  became  applied  to  its  present  purpose. 

How  much  better  is  it  to  place  the  remains  of  our  loved 
ones  beneath  the  green  sod  and  the  blue  canopy  of  heaven 
than  in  crowded  crypts  and  corners  of  an  antique  abbey — the 
open  temple  of  nature  than  the  contracted  one  of  art.  In  the 
beautiful  open  cemetery,  festooned  with  richest  foliage,  and 
glorified  with  sunshine,  sweet  flowers,  and  the  songs  of  birds, — 
all  that  can  neutralize  the  gloom  of  death  is  accomplished, 
while  the  faith  of  immortality  is  thereby  beautifully  symbo¬ 
lized. 

To  the  lovers  of  rural  beauty,  the  sequestered  shades  of 
Greenwood  have  an  indescribable  fascination.  Standing  at  the 
eastern  verge  of  this  Necropolis,  on  Ocean  Hill,  where  the  re¬ 
mains  of  the  missionary  Abeel  sleep  under  a  column,  we  look 
off  through  Sycamore  Grove,  and  Grassy  Hell,  and  beyond 
Flighland  Avenue,  to  the  elevation,  where  death  won  so  many, 
long  ago,  in  the  battle  of  Long  Island,  and  where  now  sleep, 
with  their  brothers  of  the  Revolutionary  strife,  the  heroes  who 
fell  in  Mexico — all  their  conflicts  ended  now,  and  they  in  the 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


75 


rest,  which  would  be  eternal,  but  for  that  last  trumpet,  which 
shall  startle  all  the  armies  to  the  grand  and  ultimate  review. 
A  more  pleasing  emotion  is  awakened  as  we  pause,  in  that 
vicinity,  by  the  temple  in  which  art  has  sought  to  tell  the 
mournful  history  of  the  sudden  death  of  beauty’s  idol,  Miss 
Canda;  or,  near  Sylvan  Bluff,  by  the  monument  which  Catlin 
has  reared  over  the  relics  of  his  heroic  wife,  who  for  seven 
years  accompanied  him  on  his  wild  and  hazardous  journeys 
amons:  the  Bed  men  of  the  wilderness.  There  are  all  condi- 
tions,  all  varieties,  in  death,  as  in  life,  and  the  wanderer  in 
Greenwood  turns  from  the  graves  we  have  mentioned  to  that 
of  the  beautiful  Indian,  Do-hum-me ,  who  came  to  see  the  white 
man’s  palaces,  and  to  die.  It  is  down  by  the  margin  of  Sylvan 
Lake,  and  close  by  it  is  the  modest  column  erected  to  “  poor 
MacDonald  Clarke,”  in  whose  numbers,  if  there  was  “  more  of 
madness,  and  more  of  melancholy,”  there  was  also  more  Prome¬ 
thean  fire  than  glows  in  some  of  the  works  of  greater  fame. 

Like  our  magnificent  Greenwood,  Mount  Auburn  is  also 
a  beautiful  garden  of  graves :  where  variegated  splendors  of 
nature  and  art  combined  arrest  the  delighted  eye  on  every  side. 
Lapland,  lawn,  and  vale,  fountain,  lake,  and  sylvan  stream,  inter¬ 
mingled  with  shaft,  stately  mausoleum,  and  sculptured  tomb,  are 
everywhere  embowered  amid  the  over-arching  foliage,  while 
the  sod  is  garnished  with  floral,  fragrant  gems  of  dazzling 
beauty. 

Here  repose  the  ashes  of  many  a  sainted  name ;  and  here, 
too,  may  be  found  many  a  touching  record  of  departed  worth  ; 
Spurzheim’s  monument  is  the  first  that  greets  the  eye  of  the 
visitor  as  he  enters  the  enclosure.  Laurel  Hill  Cemeterv  is  to 
Philadelphia  what  Mount  Auburn  is  to  Boston  in  its  natural 
and  artificial  beauties. 

Both  Wordsworth  and  Bogers  much  admired  the  stanzas  on 
life,  by  Mrs.  Barbauld, — the  last,  it  is  believed,  that  she  wrote. 


76 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


The  thought  of  life  looking  in  upon  you  with  a  glad  greeting, 
is  both  Christian  and  cheerful ;  for  life’s  glorious  resurrection  is 
its  second  morning. 

“  Life !  we’ve  been  long-  together, 

Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather ; 

’Tis  hard  to  part,  when  friends  are  dear, — 

Perhaps,  ’twill  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear  : 

“  Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 

Choose  thine  own  time, 

Say  not  ‘  Good  night !  ’  but  in  some  brighter  clime, 

Bid  me — ‘  Good  morning’  !  ” 

Having  conned  over  a  number  of  mortuary  memorials,  and 
epitaphs,  sentimental  and  absurd,  serious  and  trifling,  we  come 
to  the  conclusion,  with  Pope,  that, 

“  Praises  on  tombs  are  trifles  vainly  spent, 

A  man’s  good  name  is  his  best  monument.” 

The  early  Christians  inscribed  on  the  tombs  of  their  departed 
friends  the  expressive  words,  “  Mors  janua  Vitce  /”  (Death  is 
the  gate  of  Life  ! )  And  Addison  has  sung  to  us  of  the  immor¬ 
tality  of  the  soul  in  a  strain  worthy  of  the  theme  : 

*  ‘  The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years ; 

But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 

Unhurt,  amidst  the  wars  of  elements, 

The  wrecks  of  matter,  and  the  crush  of  worlds  !  ” 

We  close  our  chapter  on  these  mementos  of  mortality  with 
the  following  impressive  passage  from  the  London  Eclectic  : 

“  How  beautiful  is  the  memory  of  the  dead  !  What  a  holy 
thing  it  is  in  the  human  heart,  and  what  a  chastening  influence 
it  sheds  upon  human  life!  How  it  subdues  all  the  harshness 
that  grows  up  within  us  in  our  daily  intercourse  with  the  world ! 
How  it  melts  our  unkindness,  softens  our  pride,  kindling  our 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


77 


deepest  love,  and  waking  our  highest  aspirations !  Is  there  one 
who  has  not  some  loved  friend  gone  into  the  eternal  world,  with 
whom  he  delights  to  live  again  in  memory?  Does  he  not  love 
to  sit  down  in  the  hushed  and  tranquil  hours  of  existence,  and 
call  around  him  the  face,  the  form,  so  familiar  and  cherished 
— to  look  into  the  eye  that  mirrored  not  more  clearly  his  own 
face  than  the  soul  which  he  loves — to  listen  to  the  tones  which 
he  loves  to  listen  to,  the  tones  which  were  once  melodv  in  his 
ear,  and  have  echoed  softly  in  his  ear  since  they  were  hushed 
to  his  senses  ?  Is  there  a  spirit  to  which  heaven  is  not  brought 
nearer  by  holding  some  kindred  soul  ?  IIow  friend  follows 
friend  into  the  happy  dwelling-place  of  the  dead,  till  we  find  at 
length  that  they  who  loved  us  on  the  heavenly  shore  are  more 
than  they  who  dwell  among  us  !  Every  year  witnesses  the  de¬ 
parture  of  some  one  whom  we  knew  and  loved ;  and  when  we 
recall  the  names  of  all  who  have  been  near  to  us  in  life,  how 
many  of  them  we  see  passed  into  that  city  which  is  imperish¬ 
able  ! 

“  The  blessed  dead !  how  free  from  stain  is  our  love  for 
them  !  The  earthly  taint  of  our  affections  is  buried  with  that 
which  was  corruptible,  and  the  divine  flame,  in  its  purity,  illu¬ 
mines  our  breast.  We  have  now  no  fear  of  losing  them.  They 
are  fixed  for  us  eternally  in  the  mansions  prepared  for  our  re¬ 
union.  We  shall  find  them  waiting  for  us,  in  their  garments  of 
beauty.  The  glorious  dead  !  how  reverently  we  speak  their 
names!  Our  hearts  are  sanctified  by  their  words,  which  we  re¬ 
member.  IIow  wise  they  have  now  grown  in  the  limitless  fields 
of  truth !  IIow  joyous  they  have  become,  by  the  undying 
fountains  of  pleasure  !  The  immortal  dead  !  how  unchanging 
is  their  love  for  us  !  IIow  tenderly  they  look  down  upon  us, 
and  how  closely  they  surround  our  being !  IIow  earnestly  they 
rebuke  the  evil  of  our  lives. 

“  Let  men  talk  pleasantly  of  the  dead,  as  those  who  no  longer 


78 


CITATIONS  FROM  THE  CEMETERIES. 


suffer  and  are  tried — as  those  who  pursue  no  longer  the  fleet¬ 
ing,  but  have  grasped  and  secured  the  real.  With  them  the 
fear  and 'the  longing,  the  hope,  and  the  terror,  and  the  pain  are 
past :  the  fruition  of  life  has  begun.  How  unkind,  that  when 
we  put  away  their  bodies,  we  should  cease  the  utterance  of  their 
names.  The  tender-hearted  dead  who  struggle  so  in  parting 
from  us  !  why  should  we  speak  of  them  in  awe,  and  remember 
them  only  with  sighing  \  V ery  dear  were  they  when  hand 
clasped  hand,  and  heart  responded  to  heart.  Why  are  they  less 
dear,  when  they  have  grown  worthy  a  higher  love  than  ours  ? 
By  their  hearth-side,  and  by  their  grave-side,  in  solitude,  and 
amid  the  multitude,  think  cheerfully  and  speak  lovingly  of  the 
dead.” 

“  We  die  and  disappear  ! 

Of  myriads  passed  within  the  veil,  but  one 
Has  e’er  returned  the  mystery  to  clear  ! 

He — God’s  incarnate  Son  ! 

Then  was  the  dark  obscure  made  light, 

O’er  Death  and  Grave  the  victory  was  won, 

And  life  immortal  brought  to  light  !  ” 


k< 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 

“  Oh !  magic  of  love !  unembellished  by  you, 

Has  the  garden  a  blush,  or  the  herbage  a  hue  ? 

Or  blooms  there  a  prospect  in  nature,  or  art, 

Like  the  vista  that  shines  through  the  eye  to  the  heart  ?  ” — Jfoore. 

Although  Cupid  cannot  be  said  to  be  young,  yet  lie  seems 
to  enjoy  perpetual  youth,  for  lie  is  not  in  the  least  the  worse 
for  wear, — his  locks  are  still  golden,  his  cheeks  glowing,  and 
the  bright  kindling  glance  of  his  eye  is  as  radiant  as  ever ; 
while  his  votaries  are  even  more  numerous  than  they  have  been 
in  any  previous  age  of  the  world :  we  therefore  venture  to  hope 
that  our  theme  may  not  prove  “  weary,  stale,  Hat,  and  unprofit¬ 
able,”  at  least  to  our  fair  friends.  First  let  us  premise  that 
we  do  not  intend  to  inflict  on  the  reader  a  grave  homily  on  this 
delicate  subject,  but  rather  a  gossiping  sketch  of  the  felicities 


80 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


and  infelicities  of  the  estate  matrimonial,  and  its  counterpart — 
celibacy,  with  an  accompaniment  of  illustrative  facts  and  anec¬ 
dotes.  Marriage  has  been  designated  an  episode  in  the  life  of 
man, — an  epoch  in  that  of  woman ;  it  is  certainly  a  most  im¬ 
portant  crisis  in  the  history  of  both,  for  it  generally  causes  a 
strange  metamorphosis  in  habit  and  character. 

1  ‘  The  happy  minglement  of  hearts 

Where,  changed  as  chemic  compounds  are, 

Each  with  his  own  existence  parts, 

To  find  a  new  one  happier  far.  ” 

The  ancients  exalted  domestic  affection  into  a  household  god, 
and  one  of  the  most  beautiful  antiques  now  preserved  is  a  gem 
representing  the  draped  figure  of  a  woman  worshipping  this 
deity,  as  it  kneels  upon  a  pedestal.  Croly  wrote  the  following 
sweet  lines  upon  it : 

“  Oh !  love  of  loves  !  to  thy  white  hand  is  given 
Of  earthly  happiness  the  golden  key  ! 

Thine  are  the  joyous  hours  of  winter’s  even, 

When  the  babes  cling  around  their  father’s  knee  ; 

And  thine  the  voice  that  on  the  midnight  sea 
Melts  the  rude  mariner  with  thoughts  of  home, 

Peopling  the  gloom  with  all  he  wants  to  see. 

Spirit !  I’ve  built  a  shrine  ;  and  thou  hast  come, 

And  on  its  altar  closed — forever  closed,  thy  plume  !  ” 


It  lias  been  said  that  while  Adam  was  created  without  Para¬ 
dise,  Eve  was  created  within  the  sacred  enclosure,  and  that 
consequently  the  former  always  retains  something  of  the  origi¬ 
nal  earthiness  of  his  origin  ;  while  woman,  “  the  precious  porce¬ 
lain  of  human  clay,”  exhibits  more  of  the  refining  process,  both 
as  to  her  physical  and  moral  nature. 

“  If  man  is  the  head,  woman  is  the  crown.  She  was  formed  of 
a  rib  out  of  the  side  of  Adam,  to  be  equal  with  him, — under 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


81 


the  arm  to  be  protected,  and  near  his  heart  to  be  beloved.”  * 
The  world  lias,  in  the  main,  indorsed  the  sentiment  of  this 
worthy  divine. 

Southey  says,  “  Take  away  love,  and  not  physical  nature  only, 
but  the  heart  of  the  moral  world,  would  be  palsied 

“  This  is  the  salt  unto  humanity, 

That  keeps  it  sweet.” 

Its  influence  is  sedative,  sanative,  and  preservative — a  drop  of 
the  true  elixir,  no  mithridate  so  effectual  against  the  infection 
of  vice.  Love,  it  has  been  said,  invented  the  art  of  tracing 
likenesses,  and  thereby  led  the  way  to  portrait  painting;  the 
cherished  idol  of  our  affection  being  ever  imaged  on  the 
mental  retina,  or  enshrined  within  the  sacred  recesses  of  the 
heart,  as  an  idealization.  Love,  indeed,  lends  a  precious  seeing 
to  the  eye,  and  hearing  to  the  ear :  all  sights  and  sounds  are 
glorified  by  the  light  of  its  presence. 

Home,  the  domain  of  the  affections  and  the  graces,  is  also 
the  conservator  of  virtue.  The  amenities  that  adorn  and 
beautify  our  earthly  life  spring  up  and  flourish  within  that 
Eden  enclosure — Home. 

“  Here  woman  reigns — the  mother,  daughter,  wife, 

Strews  with  fresh  flowers  the  narrow  way  of  life ; 

In  the  clear  heaven  of  her  delighted  eye 
An  angel  guard  of  loves  and  graces  lie ; 

Around  her  knees  domestic  duties  meet, 

And  fireside  pleasures  gambol  at  her  feet.”  f 

From  the  marriage  relation  spring  those  gentle  charities  and 
kindly  offices  of  domestic  affection  which  temper  the  austerities 
and  selfish  maxims  of  the  world  ;  while  they  serve  also  to  help 
our  faith  in  a  future  blissful  estate  of  being,  of  which  they  are 
the  type  and  harbinger.  It  is  the  sanctity  of  the  domestic  circle, 


c 


*  Matthew  Henry. 


f  Cowper. 


82 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


which  links  heart  to  heart  in  a  hallowed  compact,  whence  well 
up  those  genial  affections  of  our  better  nature  that  fertilize  the 
barren  wastes  of  humanity  and  bless  the  world.  If  there  be  a 
spot  on  earth  over  which  angels  may  be  supposed  fondly  to 
linger,  and  scatter  the  sweet  incense  of  heavenly  blessing,  it 
must  be  the  sanctuary  of  a  consecrated  home.  The  surest 
safeguard  against  interruptions  to  domestic  concord  is  the 
habit  of  wearing  a  smiling  face ;  it  will  prove  the  panacea  for 
every  ill — the  antidote  for  every  sorrow;  and  who  that  has  felt 
the  luxury  of  thus  conferring  happiness,  and  chasing  from  the 
brow  a  shadow  and  the  heart  a  grief,  would  grudge  the  effort, 
for  so  rich  a  boon  ?  There  is  a  magnetic  power  in  a  spirit  of 
cheerfulness  and  good  temper.  Its  influence  is  as  salutary  and 
inspiring  in  the  sphere  of  home,  as  sunbeams  are  to  the  flowers 
of  the  field.  Among  the  most  insidious  foes  to  domestic  happi¬ 
ness  and  moral  health  are  the  tyrannies  of  fashion,  inconsider¬ 
ate  or  unkind  words,  and  the  cruelties  of  scandal :  all  these  are 
usually  found  to  accompany  weak  heads,  and  perverted  or  pet¬ 
rified  hearts.  What  spectacle  can  be  imagined  more  touchingly 
beautiful  or  impressive  than  that  which  the  marriage  ceremo¬ 
nial  presents  ?  To  witness  the  voluntary  consecration  of  two 
intelligent  beings,  on  the  altar  of  mutual  faith  and  affection, — 
the  union  of  their  lives  and  fortunes  in  a  solemn  covenant, 
which  naught  but  death  may  dissolve,  is  indeed  a  scene  of  sur¬ 
passing  interest.  That  many  instances  of  an  infelicitous  kind 
have  occurred,  cannot  be  denied,  but  it  is  no  less  true,  that  in 
the  great  majority  of  cases  the  marriage  union  has  been  pro¬ 
ductive  of  the  happiest  results;  and  were  its  claims  always 
properly  appreciated,  such  beneficent  effects  would  ever  follow 
in  its  train.  True  it  is,  as  society  is  constituted,  marriage 
becomes  somewhat  of  a  lottery— for  its  votaries  are  either  the 
victims  of  Cupid  or  cupidity;  in  either  case,  they  are  under  the 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


83 


blinding  influence  of  passion,  and  consequently  but  little  sub¬ 
ject  to  the  control  of  reason. 

An  instance  in  which  marriage  was  literally  a  lottery,  was 
exemplified  in  a  freak,  said  to  have  been  enacted  by  a  certain 
youthful  swain  in  France,  who,  relying  upon  his  personal  at¬ 
tractions  mainly,  actually  put  himself  up  as  the  prize  in  a  lot¬ 
tery  of  ten  thousand  tickets,  of  the  value  of  two  dollars  each. 
This  novel  matrimonial  expedient  created  a  wondrous  sensation 
among  the  belles  of  the  French  capital ;  and  the  result  was, 
that  all  sorts  of  speculation  went  on  among  the  fair,  who 
eagerly  bought  up  the  tickets.  A  fair  young  damsel,  who 
speculated  merely  for  the  frolic  of  the  thing,  became  the 
holder  of  the  prize  ticket ;  the  lucky  youth  tendered  her  the 
pecuniary  proceeds  of  the  lottery — $20,000;  they  became  a 
case  of  “  love  at  first  sight,”  and  within  the  brief  limits  of  the 
day,  Hymen  settled  their  destiny. 

The  happy  marriage,  says  Steele,  is  where  two  persons  meet 
and  voluntarily  make  choice  of  each  other,  without  principally 
regarding  or  neglecting  the  circumstances  of  fortune  or  beauty. 

“  Though  fools  spurn  Hymen’s  gentle  powers, 

We,  who  improve  his  golden  hours, 

By  sweet  experience  know 
That  marriage,  rightly  understood, 

Gives  to  the  tender  and  the  good 
A  paradise  below.” 

Singular  spectacles — rather  we  should  say,  pairs  of  specta¬ 
cles — are  occasionally  to  be  seen  in  our  popular  promenades — 
ladies  of  towering  altitude,  allied  to  dwarfish  bipeds,  who 
seem  as  though  they  were  designed  rather  for  the  effect  of  con¬ 
trast  than  equality;  while  again  similar  lofty  specimens  of  the 
masculine  are  to  be  met  with,  peering  into  the  upper  air,  drag- 
ging  by  their  side  like  abbreviated  instances  of  the  feminine  ; 
seemingly  to  indicate  that  in  resigning  themselves  to  the  stern 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


84 

alternative  of  espousing  that  (falsely  so  called)  necessary  evil, — 
a  wife,  they  had  sagaciously  selected  the  least.  Hood’s  inimit¬ 
able  pen  portrays  a  calamitous  case  of  the  opposite  kind,  which 
the  reader  will  possibly  remember ;  yet  we  are  tempted  to  in¬ 
troduce  it  here  : 


“  Of  wedded  bliss  bards  sing  amiss, 

I  cannot  make  a  song  of  it ; 

For  I  am  small,  my  wife  is  tall, 

And  that ’s  the  short  and  long  of  it. 

‘ 1  When  we  debate,  it  is  my  fate 

To  always  have  the  wrong  of  it ; 

For  I  am  small,  and  she  is  tall, 

And  that ’s  the  short  and  long  of  it. 

1 1  She  gives  to  me  the  weakest  tea, 

And  takes  the  whole  souchong  of  it, — 

For  I  am  small  and  she  is  tall, 

And  that ’s  the  short  and  long  of  it. 

“  Against  my  life  she’ll  take  a  knife, 

Or  fork,  and  dart  the  prong  of  it ! 

For  she  is  tall,  and  I  am  small, 

And  that ’s  the  short  and  long  of  it.” 

Necessarily  there  is  no  occasion  for  such  marked  dissimilarity 
of  size  in  marriage ;  but  there  is  no  accounting  for  the  eccen¬ 
tricities  which  sometimes  control  connubial  destiny.  Neither 
is  there  inferiority  or  superiority  between  the  sexes  ;  each  forms 
the  complement  of  the  other.  Man  has  strength,  woman, 
beauty ;  man  is  great  in  action,  woman  in  suffering ;  man’s 
dominion  is  in  the  world,  woman’s  at  home ;  man  represents 
judgment,  woman,  mercy. 

Arthur  Helps  justly  remarks,  “  Women  are  in  many  things 
our  superiors,  in  many  things  our  inferiors — our  equals,  never. 
I  hold  with  Coleridge,  that  there  are  souls  masculine,  and  souls 
feminine.  If  they  had  been  made  exactly  amenable  to  our 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


85 


ways  of  reasoning,  they  would  have  too  little  hold  upon  us. 
Whereas,  now,  being  really  resolved  to  rule,  as  all  we  men  are, 
at  least  in  serious  matters,  we  are  obliged  to  guide  and  govern 
them — when  we  do  guide  and  govern  them,  through  their 
affections,  so  that  we  are  obliged  perpetually  to  pay  court  to 
them,  which  is  a  very  beautiful  arrangement.” 

So,  after  all,  it  is  a  very  pleasant  vassalage  that  is  imposed 
upon  us  by  matrimonial  bonds.  “  Never  be  critical  upon  the 
ladies,”  was  the  maxim  of  an  Irish  peer,  remarkable  for  his 
homage  to  the  sex.  “The  only  way  that  a  gentleman  should 
look  at  the  faults  of  a  pretty  woman  is — with  his  eyes  shut !  ” 

Instances,  not  a  few,  of  disastrous  marriages  might  be  quoted, 
but  as  their  rehearsal  would  not  excite  any  pleasurable  sensa¬ 
tions,  we  shall  refrain  from  the  unwelcome  task  :  we  may, 
however,  refer  to  the  case  of  an  adroit  spinster,  who  was  cute 
enough  to  prevent  such  an  apparent  catastrophe.  A  young 
Scotchman  having  wTooed  a  pretty  buxom  damsel,  persuaded 
her  to  accompany  him  to  a  justice  of  the  peace,  for  the  purpose 
of  having  the  nuptials  celebrated.  They  stood  very  meekly 
under  the  operation,  until  the  magistrate  came  to  that  clause 
which  imposes  the  necessity  of  subjecting  the  lady  to  the  rule 
of  her  husband.  “  Say  no  more  about  that,  sir,”  interrupted 
the  half -married  claimant ;  “  if  this  hand  remains  upon  this 
body,  I’ll  make  her  obey  me.”  “  Are  we  married  yet  ?  ”  eag¬ 
erly  ejaculated  the  exasperated  maiden  to  the  ratiffer  of  cove¬ 
nants  between  man  and  woman.  “No,”  responded  the  wonder¬ 
ing  justice.  “Ah,  very  well;  we  will  finish  the  rest  another 
time,”  she  continued,  and  in  a  moment  more  vanished,  leaving 
the  astonished  swain  to  console  himself  for  the  escape  of  the 
bird  he  thought  he  had  so  securely  caught  and  caged. 

As  a  counterpart  to  the  foregoing,  we  might  cite  the  instance 
of  a  certain  couple  of  rustics,  ’who  presented  themselves  to  the 
priest  as  candidates  for  the  holy  estate  of  matrimony.  On  the 


80 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


conclusion  of  the  ceremony,  the  redoubtable  husband,  who 
began  to  have  sundry  misgivings  at  what  he  had  done,  said, 
“  Your  reverence  has  tied  the  knot  tightly,  I  fancy  ;  but,  under 
favor,  may  I  ask,  if  so  be  you  could  untie  it  again  ?  ”  “  Why, 

no,”  replied  the  dominie  ;  “  we  never  do  that  on  this  part  of  the 
consecrated  ground.”  “  Where  then  %  ”  eagerly  inquired  the 
disconsolate  victim.  “  On  that ,”  was  the  response,  pointing  to 
the  church-yard. 

A  curious  legend  is  related  of  Eginhard,  a  secretary  of 
Charlemagne,  and  a  daughter  of  the  emperor.  The  secretary 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  the  princess,  who  allowed  his  ad¬ 
vances.  One  winter’s  night  his  visit  was  prolonged  to  a  late 
hour,  and  in  the  meantime  a  deep  fall  of  snow  occurred.  If  he 
left,  his  foot-marks  would  betray  him,  and  yet  to  remain  longer 
would  expose  him,  no  less,  to  danger.  At  length  the  princess 
resolved  to  carry  him  on  her  back  to  a  neighboring  house, 
which,  it  is  said,  she  did.  It  happened,  that  from  the  window 
of  his  chamber  the  emperor  witnessed  this  novel  proceeding  ; 
and  in  the  assembly  of  the  lords  on  the  following  day,  when 
Eginhard  and  his  daughter  were  present,  he  asked  what  ought 
to  be  done  to  a  man  who  should  compel  a  king’s  daughter  to 
carry  him  on  her  shoulders  through  frost  and  snow,  on  a  win¬ 
ter’s  night  ?  They  answered  that  lie  was  worthy  of  death. 
The  lovers  became  alarmed,  but  the  emperor,  addressing  Egin¬ 
hard,  said,  “  Hadst  thou  loved  my  daughter,  thou  shouldst  have 
come  to  me  ;  thou  art  worthy  of  death — but  I  give  thee  two 
lives  ;  take  thy  fair  porter  in  marriage,  fear  God,  and  love  one 
another.” 

Balzac,  the  French  novelist,  exhibits  another  example  of  ec¬ 
centricity  in  matrimonial  affairs.  When  Balzac  was  at  the 
zenith  of  his  fame,  he  was  travelling  in  Switzerland,  and  had 
arrived  at  an  inn,  just  at  the  very  moment  the  Prince  and 
Princess  Ilanski  were  leaving  it.  Balzac  was  ushered  into  the 


A  MONOLOGUE  OX  MATRIMOXY. 


87 


room  they  had  just  vacated,  and  was  leaning  from  the  window 
to  observe  their  departure,  when  his  attention  was  arrested  by 
a  soft  voice  at  his  elbow,  asking  for  a  book  which  had  been  left 
behind  upon  the  window  seat.  The  lady  was  certainly  fair,  but 
appeared  doubly  so  in  the  eyes  of  the  poor  author,  when  she 
intimated  that  the  book  she  was  in  quest  of  was  a  pocket 
edition  of  his  own  works.  She  drew  the  volume  from  beneath 
his  elbow,  and  flew  downstairs,  obedient  to  the  screaming  sum¬ 
mons  of  her  husband,  who  was  already  seated  in  the  carriage, 
railing  in  a  loud  voice  against  dilatory  habits  of  women  in 
general,  and  his  own  spouse  in  particular  ;  and  the  emblazoned 
vehicle  drove  off,  leaving  the  novelist  in  a  state  of  self-compla¬ 
cency  the  most  enviable  to  be  conceived.  This  was  the  only 
occasion  upon  which  Balzac  and  the  Princess  Ilanski  had  met, 
till  his  subsequent  visit  to  Germany,  when  he  presented  himself 
— as  her  accepted  husband.  During  these  long  intervening 
fifteen  years,  however,  a  literary  correspondence  was  steadily 
kept  up  between  the  parties,  till  at  length,  instead  of  a  letter 
containing  literary  strictures  upon  his  writings,  a  missive  of 
another  kind,  having  a  still  more  directly  personal  tendency, 
reached  him  from  the  fair  hand  of  the  princess.  It  contained 
the  announcement  of  the  demise  of  her  husband — the  prince, 
that  he  had  bequeathed  to  her  his  domains,  and  his  great  wealth 
— and  consequently,  that  she  felt  bound  to  requite  him  in  some 
measure  for  his  liberality,  and  had  determined  upon  giving  him 
a  successor — in  the  person  of  Balzac.  It  is  needless  to  state 
that  the  delighted  author  waited  not  a  second  summons;  they 
were  forthwith  united  in  wedlock,  at  her  chateau  on  the  Bhine, 
and  a  succession  of  splendid  fetes  celebrated  the  auspicious 
event. 

The  following  romantic  incident  of  real  life  has  been  also 
traced  to  Switzerland.  Several  years  since  an  ill-assorted  mar¬ 
riage  held  for  a  season  in  unwilling  captivity  a  husband  and 


88 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


wife,  whose  mutual  distastes  at  length  became  so  confirmed, 
that  they  resolved  upon  a  separation,  and  made  an  appoint¬ 
ment  with  an  attorney  to  meet  and  si^n  a  deed  to  that  effect. 
On  their  way  thither,  they  had  to  cross  a  lake,  and  as  it  hap¬ 
pened  they  both  embarked  on  the  same  boat.  On  their  pass¬ 
age  a  storm  arose,  and  the  boat  was  upset.  The  husband, 
being  a  good  swimmer,  soon  reached  the  shore  in  safety.  On 
looking  round  to  see  the  fate  of  his  fellow-passengers,  he  dis¬ 
tinguished  his  wife,  still  struggling  for  her  life,  and  in  immi- 
neut  danger.  A  feeling  of  his  early  affection  returned  to  him, 
and  plunging  again  into  the  water,  he  swam  to  her,  and  suc¬ 
ceeded  in  rescuing  her.  "When  she  recovered  her  senses,  and 
learned  to  whom  she  owed  her  life,  she  threw  herself  into  his 
arms,  and  he  embraced  her  with  equal  cordiality ;  they  then 
vowed  to  bury  their  differences  in  oblivion,  and  their  after  mar- 
ried  life  was  no  more  darkened  by  the  storm-clouds  of  strife, 
but  brightened  and  glorified  with  the  sunshine  of  love. 

Those  who  wish  to  become  acquainted  with  “  the  loves  of  the 
poets,”  we  refer  to  Mrs.  Jameson’s  pleasant  book  on  that  deli¬ 
cate  subject.  We  may,  however,  glance  -at  the  eccentric  con¬ 
duct  of  Swift  in  his  love  matters.  His  first  flame,  whom  he 
fantastically  christened  Varina,  he  deserted,  after  a  seven  years’ 
courtship  :  the  next  he  styled  Stella,  who,  although  beautiful  in 
person,  and  accomplished,  after  a  protracted  intimacy,  he  se¬ 
cretly  married  in  a  garden,  although  he  never  resided  under 
the  same  roof  with  her,  and  never  acknowledged  the  union  till 
the  day  of  his  death.  The  third  became  a  similar  victim  to  his 
selfish  hard-heartedness,  which,  it  is  said,  caused  her  death. 
With  all  his  wit  and  genius,  such  wanton  brutality  must  ever 
reflect  the  deepest  disgrace  upon  his  character.  The  following 
case  looks  somewhat  squally,  and  indeed  possesses  so  much  of 
the  marvellous  as  to  challenge  belief.  It  is  that  of  a  gentleman 
who  confesses  he  first  saw  his  wife  in  a  storm,  took  her  to  a 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


89 


ball  in  a  storm,  courted  her  in  a  storm,  then  married  under  the 
same  boisterous  circumstances,  and  lived  with  her  during  a  like 
condition,  but  buried  her  in  pleasant  weather.  The  union  of 
hearts  and  hands  in  holy  wedlock  has  given  birth  to  many  lu¬ 
minous  poetic  effusions.  The  briefest  exposition  we  remember 
to  have  seen,  is  the  following,  which  was  doubtless  intended 
merely  as  a  love-missive  between  two  ardent  souls,  whose  elec¬ 
tive  affinities — if  spirits  may  commingle — resolved  themselves 
into  a  perfect  spiritual  amalgam.  Says  our  love-sick  swain : 

“  My  heart  to  you  is  given:  oh,  do  give  yours  to  me  ; 

We’ll  lock  them  up  together,  and  throw  away  the  key.” 

"We  remember  to  have  read  somewhere  an  account  of  a 
most  exemplary  instance  of  conjugal  fidelity  and  devotion, 
which,  if  true,  is  certainly  without  a  parallel.  A  young  noble¬ 
man  of  Genoa,  named  Marimi,  who  held  large  estates  in  Cor¬ 
sica,  whither  he  used  to  repair  every  few  years  to  regulate  his 
affairs,  had  married  a  beautiful  creature,  named  Monimia,  an 
Italian.  Tliev  lived  for  some  years  in  un diminished  felicity, 
till — alas  for  the  mutations  of  time  ! — the  devoted  husband  was 
compelled  no  longer  to  defer  a  visit  to  the  land  of  his  posses¬ 
sions.  During  his  absence,  the  island  being  at  the  time  in  a 
state  of  insurrection,  a  report  reached  the  ears  of  the  anxious 
spouse  that  he  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  popular  fury  and 
revolt.  About  the  same  time,  as  he  was  passing  along  the  har¬ 
bor,  he  overheard  some  sailors,  who  had  just  arrived,  talking  of 
the  death  of  a  Genoese  nobleman’s  wife,  then  absent  from  the 
republic.  The  name  of  his  beloved  wife  was  at  length  men¬ 
tioned,  when  all  suspicion  yielding  to  the  painful  conviction 
that  it  was,  indeed,  she  of  whom  they  spoke,  he  became  so  over¬ 
powered  with  grief  that  he  swooned  away.  On  his  recovery  he 
determined  to  lose  no  time  in  repairing  to  his  home,  in  order  to 
ascertain  the  certainty  of  the  report.  Strange  as  it  may  appear, 


90 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


simultaneously  with  this,  the  equally  distressed  wife  resolved 
upon  a  similar  procedure.  They  both  took  ship — one  for  Cor¬ 
sica,  the  other  for  Genoa ;  a  violent  storm  overtook  both  vessels, 
and  eacli  was  shipwrecked  upon  a  desolate  island  in  the  Medi¬ 
terranean.  Marimi’s  ship  first  made  land,  aud  the  disconsolate 
widower,  wishing  to  indulge  his  grief,  wandered  into  the  em¬ 
bowered  recesses  of  a  neighboring  wood.  Soon  afterwards  the 
Genoese  ship  landed  Monimia,  with  one  of  her  maids ;  actu¬ 
ated  by  similar  emotions,  she  bent  her  sorrowing  steps  to  the 
same  retreat.  They  each  heard  the  other  complaining  of  their 
bitter  fate ;  when,  moved  by  a  mutual  curiosity  to  see  their 
companion  in  grief, — judge  of  their  amazement  and  rapturous 
surprise,  when  they  instantly  recognized  in  each  other  the  ob¬ 
ject  of  their  ardent  solicitude  and  affection.  One  long,  strain¬ 
ing,  and  passionate  embrace,  and  they  immediately  expired! 

Wordsworffis  beautiful  lines  describe  the  highest  style  of 
womanhood,  with  the  subtle  analysis  of  the  critic,  and  the  Pro¬ 
methean  fire  of  the  poet : 

‘ c  She  was  a  queen  of  noble  nature’s  crowning ; 

A  smile  of  hers  was  like  an  act  of  grace  ! 

She  had  no  winsome  looks,  no  pretty  frowning, 

Like  gaudy  beauties  of  the  vulgar  race  : 

But  if  she  smiled,  a  light  was  on  her  face, — 

A  clear,  cool  kindliness,  a  lunar  beam 
Of  peaceful  radiance,  silvering  in  the  stream 
Of  human  thoughts  of  unabiding  glory, — 

Not  quite  awaking  truth — not  quite  a  dream, — 

A  visitation  bright  and  transitory.  ” 

epitome  of  woman’s  worth  is  given  in  a  single 

‘  ‘  Blessing  she  is — God  made  her  so  ; 

And  deeds  of  week-day  holiness 
Fall  from  her,  noiseless  as  the  snow ; 

Nor  hath  she  ever  chanced  to  know 
That  aught  were  easier  than  to  bless.” 


LowelVs 
stanza : 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


91 


And  Leigh  Hunt's  epitome  is : 

“  A  creature,  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature’s  daily  food  ;  — 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 

Praise,  blame,  love-kisses,  tears,  and  smiles.” 

Matrimony  has,  as  we  have  seen,  sometimes  its  squally 
weather  as  well  as  its  sunshine. 

“  A  something  light  as  air,' — a  look, 

A  word  unkind  or  wrongly  taken, — 

0  love  !  that  tempests  never  shook, 

A  breath,  a  touch  like  this,  hath  shaken. 

And  ruder  words  will  soon  rush  in 
To  spread  the  breach  that  words  begin ; 

And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 
They  wore  in  courtship’s  smiling  day  ; 

And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 
A  tenderness  o’er  all  was  said.”  * 

Job  Caudle,  when  he  died,  left  a  small  packet  of  papers  in¬ 
scribed,  “  Curtain  Lectures  delivered  in  the  course  of  thirty 
years ,  by  Mrs.  Margaret  Caudle ,  and  Suffered  by  Job  her  hus¬ 
band His  case  needs  no  comment,  rather  condolence. 

Like  a  suit  at  chancery,  marriage  is  likely  to  last  a  lifetime ; 
each  is  much  easier  to  get  into,  than  get  out  of,  again.  A 
writer  in  Punch  had  the  audacity  thus  to  estimate  matri- 
.mony : 

Which  is  of  greater  value, — pr’ythee  say, — 

The  bridegroom,  or  the  bride  ?  must  the  truth  be  told  ? 

Alas,  it  must ;  the  bride  is  given  away, — 

The  bridegroom,  often,  regularly  sold!  ” 

That  is  indeed  a  frail  bond  of  affection  which  would  seek  to 
unite  hearts  and  hands  together,  by  the  blandishments  of  beauty 
merely,  without  the  deep  faith  of  the  heart. 


*  Moore. 


92 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


“  ’Tis  beauty,  that  doth  oft  make  women  proud  ; 

’Tis  virtue,  that  doth  make  them  most  admired  ; 

’Tis  modesty,  that  makes  them  seem  divine.” 

This  last-named  grace  seems  to  have  given  place  to  the  mod¬ 
ern  infallible  specific — money  ;  money,  in  the  world’s  estimate, 
like  charity,  covers  a  multitude  of  sins. 

Some  rhymester  thus  sums  up  the  case  in  the  court  of  Cupid  : 

“  Fair  woman  was  made  to  bewitch  : 

A  pleasure,  a  pain,  a  disturber,  a  nurse, 

A  slave  or  a  tyrant,  a  blessing-  or  curse, — 

Fair  woman  was  made  to  be — which  ?  ” 

“  A  French  woman  will  love  her  husband,”  it  has  been  said, 
“  if  he  is  either  witty  or  chivalrous  ;  a  German  woman,  if  he 
is  constant  and  faithful ;  a  Dutch  woman,  if  he  does  not  dis¬ 
turb  her  ease  and  comfort  too  much ;  a  Spanish  woman,  if 
he  wreaks  terrible  vengeance  upon  those  who  are  under  her 
displeasure  ;  an  Italian  woman,  if  lie  is  dreamy  and  poetical  ; 
a  Russian  woman,  if  he  despises  all  westerners  as  miserable 
barbarians ;  an  English  woman,  if  he  succeeds  in  ingratiating 
himself  with  the  court  and  nobility ;  and  an  American  woman, 
if  he  has — plenty  of  money  !  ” 

“  Matches  are  made  for  many  reasons, — 

For  love,  convenience,  money,  fun,  and  spite. 

How  many  ag-ainst  common  sense  are  treasons  ! 

And  few  the  happy  pairs  who  match  aright  ! 

In  the  fair  breast  of  some  bewitching  dame, 

How  many  a  youth  will  strive  fond  love  to  waken  : 

And  when  at  length  successful  in  his  aim, 

Be  first  mis-led  and  afterwards — mis-taken  !  ” 

In  Southern  Italy,  love-making  is,  sometimes,  carried  on  by  a 
system  of  pantomimics,  from  opposing  balconies.  A  code  of 
significant  attitudinizing  signals  is  adopted  between  the  parties  ; 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


93 


and  although  the  method  is  mute,  yet,  as  actions  speak  louder 
than  words,  this  silent  system  seems  to  answer  the  purpose  well 
enough  for  that  meridian. 

That  brief  episode  of  romance,  courtship,  is  the  spring-tide 
of  life — the  May  of  human  existence :  fond  memory  clings  to 
it  with  cherished  and  lingering  devotion ;  for,  if  at  no  other 
period,  the  heart  then  reveals  its  generous  sympathies,  and  the 
habitual  selfishness  of  our  nature  is  forgotten.  If  the  month 
posterior  to  the  nuptial  ceremony — the  honeymoon — is  so  richly 
freighted  with  happiness,  it  is  more  than  the  great  dramatist 
affirms  of  the  period  anterior  to  that  event,  when  he  insists, 
‘fi  the  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth.” 

Emerson  has  some  poetic  and  forcible  words  upon  this  sub- 
ject  of  love;  he  says,  “  Be  our  experience  in  particular  what 
it  may,  no  man  ever  forgets  the  visitations  of  that  power  upon 
his  heart  and  brain,  which  created  all  things  new ;  which  was 
the  dawn  in  him  of  music,  poetry,  and  art, — which  made  the 
face  of  nature  radiant  with  purple  light,  the  morning  and  night 
of  varied  enchantments, — when  a  single  tone  could  thrill  the 
heart,  and  the  most  trivial  circumstance  associated  with  one 
form  is  put  in  the  amber  of  memory, — when  we  become  all  eye 
when  one  is  present — all  memory,  when  one  is  gone.” 

Thackeray  insists  that  “  it  is  a  good  thing  for  a  man  to  be  in 
love, — it  softens  his  asperities  of  character  and  quickens  his 
sensibilities.  It  is  like  inoculation,  a  kind  of  disease,  with  a 
sanative  effect  resulting  from  it.” 

The  true  antidote  or  specific  for  love-sickness  is,  unremitting 
industry ;  since  it  is  when  unoccupied  that  the  poor  victim  is 
especially  vulnerable.  It  is  then  that  the  arch  cunning  of 
Cupid  usually  takes  effect,  by  bringing  up  the  vision  of  the 
inamorata  in  all  her  bewitching  splendor.  Yes,  it  is  the  lus¬ 
trous  eye,  the  smiling  lip,  or  the  relievo  bust,  that  does  all  the 
mischief.  Potential  as  it  is,  yet  is  beauty — “  the  eye’s  idol  ” — 


94 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


often  the  most  evanescent  and  frail  of  Heaven’s  endowments. 
Notwithstanding  its  frailty,  however,  the  poet  lavishes  all  his 
wealth  of  imagery  and  pomp  of  diction,  in  the  celebration  of 
its  praises. 

Mark  Antony  lost  a  world  for  a  woman, — bartering  empire 
for  the  smile  of  the  rare  Egyptian  qneen  !  and  the  Trojan  war 
was  traceable  to  Helen’s  eyes.  Mho  has  not  proved,  as  Byron 
beautifully  expresses  it, — 

k‘  How  feebly  words  essay 
To  fix  one  spark  of  Beauty’s  heavenly  ray  ? 

"Who  doth  not  feel,  until  his  failing  sight 
Faints  into  dimness,  with  its  own  delight, — 

His  changing  cheek,  his  sinking  heart  confess, 

The  might,  the  majesty  of  loveliness  !  ” 

Love  has  been  compared  to  debt:  both  keep  their  captives 
awake  at  night,  and  in  a  perpetual  state  of  unrest  during  the 
day.  This  heart-disease  has  been  playfully  styled  the  “  tender 
passion,”  possibly,  either  from  its  softening  effects  on  the  brain, 
or  from  its  prevailing  susceptibility  with  the  “  softer  sex.” 

Like  justice,  love  is  supposed  to  be  blind ;  the  poet  says  : 

‘  ‘  Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind, 

And  therefore  is  winged  Cupid  painted  blind.  ” 

And  although  his  votaries  are  also,  for  the  most  part,  the  vic¬ 
tims  of  ophthalmic  weakness,  yet  by  a  law  of  compensation, 
love  is  endowed  wdtli  a  spiritual  perception.  “  Falling  in  love,” 
as  the  phrase  is,  is  a  serio-comic  affair ;  Cupid  is  a  cunning 
manoeuvrer  and  casuist. 

“  He  blurs  the  print  of  the  scholar’s  book, 

And  intrudes  on  the  maiden’s  prayer, 

And  profanes  the  cell  of  the  holy  man, 

In  the  shape  of  a  lady  fair. 

Love  beckons  in  the  painter’s  dream, 

Makes  music  in  the  poet’s  metre, 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


95 


O’er  youth  and  age  he  reigns  supreme  ; 

Can  any  other  sway  be  sweeter  ? 

And  still  the  songs  of  all  the  world 
Shall  celebrate  love’s  endless  blisses. 

While  on  a  neck  a  tress  is  curled, 

And  while  a  red  lip  pouts  for  kisses.”  * 

Yes,  this  loving  is  a  great  science.  Cicero  styles  it  “  the 
philosophy  of  the  heart,”  and  a  later  authority  calls  it  “  the 
finest  of  the  fine  arts.”  “In  one  respect  it  is  the  business  of 
life,”  writes  another,  “  to  conjugate  the  verb  to  love.”  In  the 
“  battle  of  life,”  courtship  is  the  siege  or  engagement ;  the  pro¬ 
posal,  the  assault,  and  marriage,  the  victory. 

Once,  at  Holland  House,  the  conversation  turned  upon  “  first 
love.”  Tom  Moore  compared  it  to  a  potato,  “because  it 
shoots  from  the  eyes.”  “  Or  rather,”  exclaimed  Byron,  “  because 
it  becomes  all  the  less  by  paring.”  It  was  so  in  his  case. 

The  Hibernian  was  in  earnest,  if  not  in  haste,  in  his  love  suit 
for  a  beauty,  when  he  told  her  he  “  could  get  no  sleep  o’  nights 
for  dhramin’  ov  her.”  One  of  the  most  concise  courtships  we 
have  heard  of,  was  the  following :  An  eminent  geologist,  who 
was  travelling  several  years  ago  in  a  stage-coach,  happened  to 
take  a  seat  opposite  to  a  lady.  Of  course  glances  were  ex¬ 
changed,  for  how  could  they  help  so  doing  ?  A  code  of  eye- 
signals  was  next  adopted,  and  soon  afterwards  eye-language 
was  exchanged  for  verbal  conversation.  After  a  few  inter¬ 
changes  about  fossils  and  petrifactions,  they  began  to  talk  about 
living  objects  and  subjects,  from  generalities  they  descended 
to  specialties  and  personalities.  Said  the  gentleman,  “  I  am 
still  unmarried;”  quoth  the  lady,  “So  am  I.”  Ho.  1  then 
replied,  “  I  have  sometimes  thought  of  marrying  ;  ”  “  So  have 
I,”  responded  Ho.  2.  Then  a  pause  ensued.  “  Suppose  we  were 
to  marry  one  another,”  was  then  proposed  by  the  man  of  fossils : 


*  II.  S.  Clarke. 


96 


A  MONOLOGUE  OZ\  MATRIMONY. 


“  I  would  love  and  cherish;  ”  “  and  I,”  said  the  fair  one,  “  would 
honor  and  obey.”  Two  days  after,  it  is  said,  they  did  the  deed. 

Punch  thus  portrays  the  symptoms  of  a  case  of  heart-disease 
or  absent-mindedness  superinduced  thereby,  the  interlocutor 
beino*  in  evidence : 

o 


“  Tell  me,  Edward,  dost  remember  bow  at  breakfast,  often  we 
Put  our  bacon  in  tbe  teapot  while  we  took  and  fried  our  tea  ? 

How  we  went  to  evening  parties  on  gigantic  brewers’  drays. 

How  you  wore  your  coats  as  trousers  in  those  happy,  happy  days  ? 

How  we  used  to  pocket  ices  when  a  modest  lunch  we  bought, 

Quaff  the  foaming  Abemethy,  masticate  the  crusty  port  ? 

How  we  cleaned  our  boots  with  sherry,  while  we  drank  the  blacking  dry  ? 
And  how  we  quite  forgot  to  pay  for  articles  we  used  to  buy  ?  ” 

Yes,  falling  in  love  is  a  queer  business ;  for  instance,  a  stu¬ 
dent  leaves  college,  covered  with  academic  honors,  and  not  a 
stir  in  his  affections,  excepting  for  his  “  kith  and  kin ;  ”  but  a 
fair  maiden  passes  him  on  his  way,  and  straightway  he  loses 
his  heart — the  victim  of  a  glance  from  a  sunny  face.  A 
learned  metaphysician,  apparently  lost  to  all  external  things  by 
his  abstract  studies,  walks  out  from  his  library,  and  his  eye  is 
suddenly  arrested  by  the  vision  of  a  little  satin  shoe  tripping 
most  daintily  along  ;  and  this  grave  epitome  of  severe  learning 
becomes  a  ready  captive  to  Cupid’s  snare !  Take  another 
instance  :  a  redoubtable  son  of  Mars,  full  panoplied  for  the 
fight,  and  panting  for  victorious  fame,  enters  a  gay  saloon  in  a 
foreign  clime,  where  he  meets  a  Spanish  brunette,  in  her  blaze 
of  beauty  ;  with  a  twirl  of  her  fan  she  takes  him  captive.  Who 
shall  give  to  us  a  mathematical  demonstration  of  the  mystery  ? 

Notwithstanding  all  that  women  have  charged  against  us, 
men,  under  the  counts  of  “  woman’s  rights,”  and  “  woman’s 
wrongs,”  are  they  not  indispensable  to  our  social  happiness? 
Are  they  not  the  “  queens  of  society,”  whose  empire  is  the 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


97 


heart,  and  whose  sceptre  is  love  ?  Of  all  the  tributes  ever  paid 
to  woman’s  worth  by  pen  of  poet,  and  they  have  been  neither 
few  nor  small,  a  single  line  of  Scotia’s  bard  is  the  most  com¬ 
prehensive  : 

“What  signifies  the  life  o’  man, 

An’  ’twere  not  for  the  lasses,  o  ?  ” 

One  of  the  old  dramatists  thus  touches  upon  the  seductive 
subject :  “  Sing  of  the  nature  of  woman,  and  the  song  shall  be 
surely  full  of  variety, — old  crotchets  and  most  sweet  closes, — it 
shall  be  humorous,  grave,  fantastic,  amorous,  melancholy, 
sprightly — one  in  all,  and  all  in  one  !  ”  * 

But  leaving  woman  as  Adam  found  her,  the  predestined 
mistress  of  the  affections,  we  will  refer  the  reader  to  the  old 
poet  Gower’s  chivalric  devotion  to  the  maiden  of  his  muse  : 

“What  thing  she  bid  me  do,  I  do ; 

And  where  she  bid  me  go,  I  go ; 

And  when  she  likes  to  call,  I  come  ; 

I  serve,  I  bow,  I  looke,  I  lonte, 

Mine  eye  it  followeth  her  about.” 

The  human  family  is  divided  into  two  classes,  the  married 
and  the  single ;  the  former  have  been  often  deemed  legitimate 
objects  for  the  raillery  and  jest,  by  the  advocates  of  celibacy  ; 
and  it  is  but  fair  that  the  opposite  party  should  be  permitted  a 
share  of  the  like  pleasantry.  #  As  a  specimen  of  the  former, 
take  the  following  lines  of  a  most  inveterate  woman-hater — one 
of  the  early  printers  who  flourished  during  the  first  half  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  The  extraordinary  production  in  which  this 
curious  satire  occurs  is  entitled  “  The  scole-howse ,  wherein 
every  man  may  rede  a  goodlie  prayer  of  the  condycyons  of 
women”  &c.  This  erudite  scribe  thus  apostrophizes  the 
sex : 


7 


*  Beaumont. 


98 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY . 


“  Trewly  some  men  there  be 
That  lyve  always  in  great  horroure, 

And  sayth  it  goth  by  destynie, — 

To  hang,  or  wed, — both  hath  one  houre  ; 

And  whether  it  be  !  I  am  well  sure 
Hanging  is  better  of  the  twaine, — 

Sooner  done  and  shorter  payne  !  ” 

It  is  admitted,  on  all  hands,  to  be  both  a  delicate  and  perilous 
thing,  to  pry  into  a  woman’s  age ;  and  the  embarrassment 
becomes  increased  in  the  exact  ratio  of  its  advance,  especially 
in  the  case  of  an  unmarried  lady.  The  precise  epoch  at  which 
the  epithet  old  may  be  admissible,  is  no  less  involved  in  mys¬ 
tery.  It  is,  therefore,  highly  expedient  to  avoid  inquisitiveness 
upon  the  subject.  Possibly  the  solution  of  the  mystery  of 
woman’s  age  may  be  found  in  the  fact,  that  beauty  does  not 
always  bloom ;  and  when  her  dimpled  smiles  and  ruddy  hues 
pass  away,  it  is  a  vain  endeavor  to  supply  their  lack  by  the  aid 
of  costly  cosmetics  and  bijouterie. 

Unmarried  maidens  ought,  of  course,  to  be  styled  the  match¬ 
less  among  the  fair,  for  in  more  senses  than  one,  the  definition 
is  applicable  to  them.  Are  they  not  usually  the  ministering 
angels  of  the  social  circle ;  and  are  they  not  the  sine  qua  non 
in  the  chamber  of  sickness?  Some  of  the  sweet  sisterhood 
remain  unintentionally  among  the  unmarried,  and  these  claim 
our  respectful  sympathy ;  others  there  are,  known  by  the  epithet 
coquette ,  possessing  more  charms  of  person  than  graces  of 
character ;  these  often  fail  of  matrimonial  alliance,  from  pre¬ 
sumption.  When  too  late,  these  nymphs  resort  to  every  expe¬ 
dient  to  avert  the  unwelcome  issue,  but  in  vain ;  “  love’s  sweet 
vocabulary  ”  has  been  exhausted,  and  the  charms,  divinations, 
and  necromancy  of  Venus  herself  have  been  called  into  requisi¬ 
tion,  but  potent  as  they  usually  are,  without  the  desired  effect 
in  their  behalf.  We  have  been  accustomed  to  associate  Cupid 
with  simply  his  bow  and  quiver  full  of  arrows ;  but  the  queen 


A  MONOLOGUE  OX  MATRIMONY. 


99 


of  love,  it  seems,  can  invoke  to  her  aid  much  more  varied  and 
irresistible  artillery  for  capturing  the  citadel  of  the  heart.  To 
enumerate  in  full  detail  these  appliances  of  woman’s  art,  would 
startle  the  credulity  of  the  unsuspecting  reader.  ^Neither  the 
“gentle  moon,”  nor  good  old  St.  Valentine,  the  tutelar  divini¬ 
ties  of  the  tender  passion,  have,  in  their  case,  done  their  office  ; 
who,  therefore,  can  wonder,  after  such  an  expenditure  of  effort 
and  exemplary  enduring  patience  on  their  part,  that  our  for¬ 
lorn  fair  ones  should  become  the  victims  of  ennui, — or  that 
their  once  jubilant  and  joyous  features  should  become  tinged 
with  an  expression  of  melancholy.  We  hear  much  of  the 
merry  old  bachelor,  that  he  is  devoid  of  care,  that  he  is  every¬ 
where  the  centre  of  a  charmed  circle,  and  that  he  is,  in  a  word, 
a  being  envied  by  all,  pitied  by  none.  Even  Lord  Bacon , 
among  others  of  the  literary  and  learned,  insists  that  mankind 
is  indebted  to  the  unmarried  and  the  childless  for  its  highest 
benefactions,  in  the  world  of  science  and  song.  “  They  are,” 
he  adds,  “  the  best  of  friends,  the  best  masters,  and  the  best 
servants.”  The  verdict  of  society  has,  however,  changed  since 
the  days  of  that  sage  philosopher. 

Old  bachelors  have  been  styled  “  unproductive  consumers  ; 
scissors  with  but  one  blade ;  bows  without  fiddles ;  irregular 
noun-substantives,  always  in  the  singular  number  and  objective 
case ;  unruly  scholars,  who,  when  told  to  conjugate,  always  de¬ 
cline.” 

Some  wag  thus  apostrophizes  the  old  bachelor :  “  What  a 
pitiful  thing  an  old  bachelor  is,  with  his  cheerless  house  and 
his  rueful  phiz,  on  a  bitter  cold  night,  when  the  fierce  winds 
blow,  and  when  the  earth  is  covered  with  snow.  When  his  fire 
is  out,  and  in  shivering  dread,  he  slips  ’neath  the  sheets  of  his 
lonely  bed.  How  he  draws  up  his  toes,  all  encased  in  yarn  hose, 
and  he  buries  his  nose  ’neath  the  chilly  bedclothes ;  lest  his 
nose,  and  his  toes,  still  encased  in  yarn  hose,  should  chance  to 


100 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


get  froze.  Then  he  puffs  and  he  blows,  and  says  that  he  knows 
no  mortal  on  earth  ever  suffered  such  woes ;  and  with  ahs  ! 
and  with  ohs !  with  his  limbs  to  dispose,  so  that  neither  his  • 
toes,  nor  his  nose,  may  be  froze — to  his  slumbers  in  silence, 
the  bachelor  goes  !  ” 

Dichens  thus  piquantly  portrays  the  old  bachelor,  where  he 
says :  “  He  is  cross,  cadaverous,  odd  and  ill-natured, — never 
happy  but  when  he  is  miserable ;  and  always  miserable  when 
he  had  the  best  reason  to  be  happy.  The  only  real  comfort  of 
his  existence  seemed  to  be,  to  make  everybody  about  him 
wretched.  If  he  hated  one  thing  more  than  another,  it  was  a 
child  ;  his  antipathies  included  old  women,  and  doors  that  would 
not  shut ! 55  Old  bachelors  are  like  those  strange  wandering 
fires  that  seem  to  have  no  fixed  spheres ;  serve  no  known  law  in 
the  moral  universe, — the  purposes  of  whose  existence  being  a 
mystery  alike  to  themselves  and  all  about  them.  Callous  to  the 
appeals  of  nature,  insensible  to  the  sweet  oratory  of  woman’s 
eyes  and  lips,  and  the  rarer  attractions  of  her  moral  worth ; 
these  despisers  of  the  sex  deserve  their  frowns,  rather  than  their 
approving  smiles,  and  to  be  placed  under  the  ban  of  society  as 
its  alien,  if  not  its  foe.  These  singular  specimens  of  humanity 
are  in  an  anomalous  condition  ;  for  they  are  not  only  isolated 
in  their  selfishness,  but  they  have  also  outlawed  themselves 
from  the  rights  and  privileges  of  domestic  life. 

Apart  from  its  endearing  associations  and  immunities,  the 
marriage  relation  is  constituted  the  great  conservator  of  human 
existence ;  without  it  the  world  would  soon  become  a  waste, 
and  the  beneficent  purposes  of  its  great  Author  be  frustrated. 
This  sentiment  we  accordingly  find  to  have  obtained,  as  by  in¬ 
stinct,  in  all  ages.  Fines  were  first  levied  on  unmarried  men 
in  Home,  about  the  middle  of  the  fourth  century  ;  and  when 
pecuniary  forfeitures  failed  to  insure  obedience  to  connubial 
edicts,  celibacy  was  visited  by  penal  punishments. 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


101 


Having  indulged  our  laugh  against  the  bachelor  tribe,  and 
the  matchless  spinster  sisterhood,  we  have  a  few  words  to  say 
about  bewitching  widows — perhaps  the  most  difficult  to  define 
of  all  human  enigmas.  Widows,  generally  speaking,  are  es¬ 
pecially  dangerous  to  the  peace  of  bachelors :  having  graduated 
in  the  school  of  domestic  life,  they  have  become  proficients  in 
“  the  art  which  conceals  art,5’  they  have  exchanged  simplicity  for 
sophistry  and  seductive  contrivance.  They  do  not  often  say — 
“  no,”  to  an  “  offer  ;  ”  and  if  the  party  is  timidly  backward  in 
coming  forward,  they  have  an  enchanting  habit  of  meeting 
him  half  way. 

Old  Weller  in  the  Pickwick  Papers ,  warns  his  impressible 
son,  Seem,  against  their  wiles,  and  affirms,  that  “  one  vidcler  is 
equal  to  twenty-five  single  vomen  !  ”  Here  is  a  life-like  sketch 
of  a  first-class  widow  : 

‘  ‘  She  is  modest,  but  not  bashful,  free  and  easy,  but  not  bold — 

Like  an  apple,  ripe  and  mellow,  not  too  young,  and  not  too  old ; 

Half  inviting,  half  repulsive  ;  now  inviting,  now  too  shy  : 

There  is  mischief  in  her  dimple,  there  is  danger  in  her  eye  ! 

She  can  tell  the  very  moment  when  to  sigh  and  when  to  smile  ; 

Oh  !  a  maid  is  sometimes  charming,  but  a  widow  all  the  while. 

Are  you  sad  ?  how  very  serious  will  her  handsome  face  become  : 

Are  you  angry  ?  she  is  wretched,  lonely,  friendless,  tearful,  dumb : 

Are  you  mirthful  ?  how  her  laughter,  silver-sounding,  will  ring  out : 

She  can  lure,  and  catch,  and  play  you,  as  the  angler  does  the  trout !  ” 

So  long  as  fascinating  women,  be  they  widows  or  maidens, 
still  remain  amongst  us,  to  light  up  life’s  pathway,  and  to  glad¬ 
den  our  eyes,  there  is  hope  for  bachelors,  old  or  young.  So 
that  if  even  any  crusty,  rusty  old  blades,  long  “laid  on  the  shelf,” 
and  deemed  beyond  all  redemption,  should  thus  become  owned 
and  polished,  their  dulness  removed,  their  temper  improved — 
and  a  new  edge  being  put  upon  them,  they  may  hereafter  cut 
a  better  figure  in  the  world,  wfith  more  comfort  to  themselves 
and  advantage  to  their  neighbors.  The  most  effectual  way  to 


102 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


curb  a  wild  youngster,  is  to  bridal  him  ;  and  the  best  way  to 
keep  a  man  in  countenance ,  who  is  tired  of  inspecting  his  own 
disconsolate  visage  in  the  mirrors,  is,  to  turn  his  gaze  towards 
some  smiling  vision  of  beauty,  and  then,  if  he  may,  secure  it, 
as  real  estate  or  personal  property. 

Tom  Moore  once  committed  an  act  of  petty  larceny,  by  clip¬ 
ping  a  stray  ringlet  from  the  head  of  a  young  lady,  who,  on 
demanding  restitution,  received  from  the  poet  this  witty  re- 

4  ‘  On  one  sole  condition,  love,  I  might  be  led, 

With  this  beautiful  ringlet  to  part, — 

I  would  gladly  relinquish  the  lock  of  your  head, 

Could  I  gain  but  the  key  to  your  heart !  ” 

Few  topics  have  been  made  so  fruitful  a  theme  of  badinage 
and  sarcasm  by  the  wits,  as  that  of  marriage.  If  the  old  bache¬ 
lor  is  said  to  become  bearish  in  his  isolation,  a  man  of  the  op¬ 
posite  class,  during  courtship,  is  thought  to  exhibit  a  strong 
resemblance  to  a  goose  ;  and  when  this  incipient  stage  is  ex¬ 
changed  for  the  estate  matrimonial,  he  is  honored  with  the  epi¬ 
thet  sheepish .  Some  have  indulged  their  vein  of  irony  in 
verse,  a  curious  specimen  of  which  we  subjoin ;  it  evinces  as 
much  ingenuity  as  wit,  for  it  admits  of  being  read  two  ways, 
to  convey  a  directly  opposite  sentiment.  We  transcribe  it  ac¬ 
cording  to  what  we  consider  its  true  meaning  ;  but  in  order  to 
make  it  tell  the  reverse,  it  will  be  necessary  to  alternate  the 
lines,  reading  the  first  and  third,  then  the  second  and  fourth : 

“  That  man  must  lead  a  happy  life 
Who  is  directed  by  a  wife  ; 

Who’s  freed  from  matrimonial  claims, 

Is  sure  to  suffer  for  his  pains. 

1 1  Adam  could  find  no  solid  peace 
Till  he  beheld  a  woman’s  face ; 

When  Eve  was  given  for  a  mate 
Adam  was  in  a  happy  state. 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


103 


‘ 4  In  all  the  female  race  appears 
Truth,  darling-  of  a  heart  sincere  : 

Hypocrisy,  deceit,  and  pride 
In  woman  never  did  reside. 

4 4  What  tongue  is  able  to  unfold 
The  worth  in  woman  we  behold  ? 

The  failings  that  in  woman  dwell 
Are  almost  imperceptible. 

‘  ‘  Confusion  take  the  men,  I  say, 

Who  no  regard  to  women  pay, 

Who  make  the  women  their  delight 
Keep  always  reason  in  their  sight.” 

One  of  the  most  eminent  of  her  sex,  Mrs.  Jameson,  referring 
to  the  mission  of  woman,  has  said  :  “  It  is  hers  to  keep  alive 
all  those  purer,  gentler,  and  more  genial  sympathies — those 
refinements  in  morals,  in  sentiments,  in  manners,  without  which 
men  exposed  to  the  rougher  influences  of  every-day  life  and  in 
the  struggle  with  this  selfish  world,  might  degenerate  (do  de¬ 
generate,  for  the  case  is  not  hypothetical)  into  mere  brutes.” 
Such  is  the  beautiful  theory  of  woman’s  life-mission — preached 
to  her  by  moralists,  sung  to  her  by  poets — till  it  has  become 
the  world’s  creed,  and  her  own  faith. 

The  marriage  bond  has  been  compared  to  the  “  Gordian  knot,” 
because  it  is  an  inextricable  one,  which  none  are  supposed  to 
be  competent  to  unloose.  In  these  modern  days,  however,  too 
maii}r,  disregarding  the  sanctity  of  this  union,  wait  not  for  death 
to  dissolve  it,  but,  like  Alexander  the  Great,  ruthlessly  sunder 
at  will  the  mystic  cord. 

The  wedding-ring,  symbolical  of  the  perpetuity  of  the  con¬ 
jugal  relation,  has  ever  been  the  accepted  accompaniment  of 
marriage.  Its  being  put  on  the  fourth  finger  of  the  left  hand, 
has  been  continued,  from  long-established  usage,  because  of 
the  fanciful  concept  that  from  this  finger  a  nerve  went  direct 
to  the  heart. 


104 


A  MONOLOGUE  ON  MATRIMONY. 


u  Little  simple,  valued  tiling,  made  for  little  finger  fair, 

How  much  sorrow  you  may  bring,  when  for  lucre  you  ensnare  ! 

Yet,  if  heart  and  hand  unite,  and  if  soul  to  soul  be  given, — 

Then  the  solemn  nuptial  rite  is  a  sweet  foretaste  of  heaven  !  ” 

0 

Evil  portents  sometimes  scare  the  happy  pair,  even  after  the 
Gordian  knot  has  been  tied.  We  are  not,  say  you,  fair  maiden, 
superstitions  on  that  subject:  well,  then,  that  being  the  case, 
we  will  tell  you  on  which  day  to  do  the  deed :  if  it  has  been 
already  enacted  :  we  subjoin  a  little  advice  gratis  : 

Now  list  the  oracle :  “  On  Monday,  for  wealth ;  Tuesday, 
for  health ;  Wednesday,  the  best  day  of  all ;  Thursday  for 
crosses  ;  Friday,  for  losses, — Saturday,  no  luck  at  all ! 55 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


“  Books  are  the  immortal  sons  deifying  their  sires."— Plato 

With  wliat  rapt  enthusiasm  will  the  confirmed  bibliomaniac 
pounce  upon,  and  pore  over  the  scarce  legible  pages  of  some 
antique  mouldering  manuscript ;  or  clutch,  with  miser  grasp, 
a  black-letter  tome  of  the  olden  time.  This  feeling,  though 
peculiar  in  its  intensity  to  the  class  referred  to,  is  yet  possessed 
in  degree  by  most  who  prefer  any  claims  to  a  literary  taste. 
An  attachment  or  veneration  for  books — for  books  that  are 
books — if  not  a  conclusive  test  of  all  mental  refinement,  is  at 
least  its  rarely  absent  concomitant.  In  the  companionship  of 


106 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


books,  bow  many  immunities  do  we  enjoy,  which  are  denied  to  us 
in  our  intercourse  with  men  : — with  unobtrusive  modesty,  they 
trespass  not  upon  us,  unbidden  guests,  nor  do  they  ever  out¬ 
stay  their  welcome.  When  it  is  remembered,  that  books  pre¬ 
sent  us  with  the  quintessence  of  the  most  cultivated  minds, 
freed,  to  a  great  extent,  from  the  alloy  of  human  passion  and 
weakness,  and  that  they  are  the  media  of  our  acquiring  the 
closest  proximity  and  communion  with  the  spirits  of  the  great 
and  good  of  all  ages,  it  cannot  surprise  us  that  books  should 
become  such  universal  favorites.  With  the  historian,  for  in¬ 
stance,  we  lose  sight  of  our  own  common-place  existence,  as 
we  become  fired  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  apparently  more 
noble  and  illustrious  achievements  of  the  mighty  dead ;  or 
traverse  with  the  poet  the  glowing  fields  of  his  own  ideal 
world,  peopled  with  the  bright  creations  of  fancy ;  while,  if  in 
more  sober  mood,  we  may  gather  from  the  grave  teacher  of 
ethics  the  collective  wisdom  and  experience  of  the  past. 
“  Talk  of  the  necromancer  of  old,  with  his  wand,  his  charms, 
and  his  incantations;  what  is  he  to  an  author?  His  charm  is, 
that  we  lift  the  cover  of  his  book ;  his  incantation  is  its  pref¬ 
ace — his  wand,  the  pen ;  but  what  can  equal  their  power  ? 
The  spell  is  upon  us ;  the  actual  world  around  us  is  gone.”  * 
Honor,  then,  to  those  gifted  ones  who  can  thus  delight  and  in¬ 
struct  us ;  no  praise  or  reward  can  be  overpaid  to  them  while 
they  are  amongst  us,  nor  any  homage  too  great  when  they  have 
passed  away.  “  The  works  of  an  author  are  his  embalmed 
mind ;  and  grateful  to  the  student’s  eye  are  the  'well-under¬ 
stood  hieroglyphics  on  this  mental  mummy-case,  that  tell  of  the 
worthy  preserved  therein.  What  was  the  extolled  art  of  the 
Egyptians  to  this  ?  Mind  and  matter — the  poet  and  the  mon¬ 
arch — Homer  and  King  Cheops  !  ” 


*  Charming. 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


107 


‘  ‘  There  they  reign 

(In  loftier  pomp  than  working-  life  had  known,) 

The  king-s  of  thought ! — not  crowned  until  the  grave. 

When  Agamemnon  sinks  into  the  tomb, 

The  beggar  Homer  mounts  the  monarch’s  throne  ! 

. Who  of  us  can  tell 

What  he  had  been,  had  Cadmus  never  taught 
To  man  the  magic  that  embalms  the  thought, — 

Had  Plato  never  spoken  from  his  cell, 

Or  his  high  harp  blind  Homer  never  strung  ? — 

Kinder  all  earth  hath  grown  since  genial  Shakspeare  sung  ?  ”  * 

At  that  magic  word, — Boohs — what  vivid  retrospections  of 
bygone  years — what  summer  days  of  unalloyed  happiness, 
when  life  was  new, — rush  on  the  memory.  Who,  in  recalling 
the  past,  does  not  delight  to  refer  to  the  pleasures  he  has  ex¬ 
perienced  in  the  perusal  of  some  favorite  author  ?  Such  inci¬ 
dents  occur  to  most,  and  they  constitute  bright  episodes  in  the 
drama  of  life.  Who,  in  early  youth,  has  not  been  lost  to  all 
external  things  in  the  rapt  enjoyment  of  those  delectable 
emanations  of  genius —  The  Arabian  Nights ,  Robinson  Crusoe , 
and  the  Pilgrim' s  Progress , — books  of  such  singular  interest 
as  to  render  them  universal  favorites. 

“  Books  are  a  guide  in  youth  and  an  entertainment  for  age,” 
says  an  old  writer ;  66  they  support  us  under  solitude,  and  keep 
us  from  becoming  a  burden  to  ourselves.  They  help  us  to  for¬ 
get  the  crossness  of  men  and  things,  and  compose  our  cares 
and  our  passions,  and  lay  our  disappointments  asleep.”  Books 
are  the  fruits  and  flowers  which  intellectual  husbandry  culls 
from  the  fields  of  imagination  and  reflection  ;  well-springs  from 
the  fountains  of  truth  ;  or  the  pearls  and  precious  metals  that 
are  produced  from  the  mental  crucible.  Deprived  of  these 
treasuries  of  knowledge  and  wisdom,  we  should  pine  for  that 
literary  aliment,  which  is  as  essential  to  our  mental  economy, 

*  Bulwer  Lytton. 


108 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


as  is  animal  food  to  our  physical  well-being.  They  constitute 
the  electric  chain,  that  connects  and  circulates  the  mental  mag¬ 
netism  of  our  social  life.  They  are  the  links  that  unite  the 
past  with  the  present,  and  spread  out  before  us  the  collective 
intelligence  of  all  time.  In  the  words  of  an  old  poet — • 

“  Books  are  a  part  of  man’s  prerogative, 

In  formal  ink,  they  form  and  voices  hold, 

That  we  to  them  our  solitude  may  give, 

And  make  time  present  travel  that  of  old.” 

Good  books,  moreover,  beguile  the  sad  and  sorrowing  of 
their  griefs,  and  especially  the  Book  of  books,  that  binds  both 
worlds,  and  conducts  the  pilgrim,  as  did  the  pillar  of  cloud 
and  fire  the  Israelites  of  old,  to  the  promised  land. 

“  Our  religion  itself  is  founded  in  books,”  says  Bartholin, 
“  and  without  them  God  is  silent,  justice  dormant,  physic  at  a 
stand,  philosophy  lame,  letters  dumb,  and  all  things  involved 
in  Cimmerian  darkness.” 

“  I  confess  myself  an  idolater  of  this  literary  religion,  and 
am  grateful  for  the  blessed  ministry  of  books.  It  is  a  kind  of 
heathenism  which  needs  no  missionary  funds,  no  Bible  even,  to 
abolish  it ;  for  the  Bible  itself  caps  the  peak  of  this  new  Olym¬ 
pus,  and  crowns  it  with  sublimity  and  glory.  Amongst  the 
many  things  we  have  to  be  thankful  for,  as  the  result  of  mod¬ 
ern  discoveries,  surely  this  of  printed  books  is  the  highest  of 
all ;  and  I  for  one  am  so  sensible  of  its  merits,  that  I  never 
think  of  the  name  of  Guttenberg  without  feelings  of  venera¬ 
tion  and  homage.”  * 

The  literary  history  of  books,  although  in  itself  fraught 
with  peculiar  interest,  as  exhibiting  the  progress  of  the  human 
mind  and  science,  is  yet  rather  collateral  to  our  subject  than 
directly  in  its  line  ;  since  wTe  propose  merely  to  notice  some  of 

*  Searle’s  Essay. 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


109 


the  more  notable  specimens  of  ancient  and  modern  bibliogra- 

phy- 

Iii  his  curious  chapter  on  early  manuscripts,  D’Israeli  gives 
the  following  ludicrous  anecdote,  illustrative  of  the  pious  hor¬ 
ror  in  which  the  classics  were  held  by  the  monks.  To  read  a 
profane  author  was  deemed  by  the  communities  not  only  a  very 
idle  recreation,  but  even  regarded  by  some  as  a  grave  offence. 
To  distinguish  them,  therefore,  they  invented  a  disgraceful 
sign:  when  a  monk  inquired  for  any  pagan  author,  after  mak¬ 
ing  the  general  sign  they  used  in  their  manual  and  silent  lan¬ 
guage,  when  they  wanted  a  book,  he  added  a  particular  one, 
which  consisted  in  scratching  under  his  ear,  as  a  dog  is  accus¬ 
tomed  to  do  with  his  paw,  “  because,”  said  they,  “  an  unbeliev¬ 
er  is  compared  to  a  dog”  !  In  this  manner  they  expressed  an 
itching  for  those  dogs —  Virgil  and  Horace.  Notwithstand¬ 
ing  the  odium  with  which  the  writings  of  these  despised 
heathens  were  treated  by  some,  there  were  others  of  a  later 
date,  to  be  found  willing  to  become  their  possessors  even  at 
enormous  cost.  The  transfer  of  an  estate  was  sometimes  not 
withheld  to  secure  the  boon;  while  the  disposal  of  a  manu¬ 
script  was  considered  an  event  of  such  importance  as  to  require 
a  public  record.  Louis  XI.,  in  1471,  was  compelled  to  pledge 
a  hundred  golden  crowns  in  order  to  obtain  the  loan  even  of 
the  MSS.  of  an  Arabian  scribe,  named  Basis. 

Numerous  other  instances  might  be  cited  of  a  similar  class, 
during  the  middle  ages.  For  example,  Stow  informs  us  that, 
in  1274,  a  Bible  in  nine  volumes,  finely  written,  “  sold  for  fifty 
markes,”  something  like  thirty  pounds  sterling  of  that  time, 
when  ordinary  laboring  wages  were  a  penny  a  day.  This 
Bible  was  afterwards  bought  by  the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  after 
having  been  taken  from  the  King  of  France,  at  the  battle  of 
Poictiers.  The  Countess  of  Anjou  is  also  said  to  have  paid  for 


110 


CURIOUS  AXD  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


a  copy  of  the  Homilies  of  Bishop  Iluiman  two  hundred  sheep, 
and  other  articles  of  barter. 

Parnarme,  writing  to  the  King  of  Naples,  says,  “  You  lately 
wrote  me  from  Florence  that  the  works  of  Titus  Livius  are 
there  to  be  sold,  in  very  handsome  books,  and  that  the  price  of 
each  is  one  hundred  and  twenty  crowns  of  gold.  Therefore  I 
entreat  your  majesty  that  you  cause  the  same  to  be  bought; 
and  one  thing  I  want  to  know  of  your  prudence,  whether  I  or 
Poggius  have  done  best, — he,  that  he  might  buy  a  country 
house  near  Florence,  sold  Livy,  which  he  had  writ  in  a  very 
fine  hand  ;  or  I,  that  I  might  purchase  the  books,  have  exposed 
a  piece  of  land  for  sale  ?  ” 

In  Spain,  books  were  formerly  so  exceedingly  scarce,  that 
one  and  the  same  Bible  often  served  for  the  use  of  several 
monasteries.  And  even  the  library  at  Paris  down  to  the  four¬ 
teenth  century  possessed  only  four  of  the  classic  authors, — 
Cicero,  Lucan,  Ovid,  and  Boethius. 

Previous  to  the  invention  of  type  printing,  raised  words 
were  cut  on  a  block  of  wood,  impressions  from  which  were 
taken ;  and  in  this  way  was  produced  the  Biblia  Pauperum 
of  the  fourteenth  century.  It  consisted  of  about  forty  leaves 
of  texts  bound  together,  and  was  intended,  probably,  either  as 
a  help  to  the  preacher,  or  the  catechumen. 

A  Saxon  king  once  gave  away  an  estate  of  eight  hundred 
acres  of  land  for  a  single  volume,  entitled  “  Cosmography ;  or, 
The  History  of  the  World:”  such  was  the  scarcity  and  value 
of  books  in  those  times.  A  book  was  often  entailed  with  as 
much  solemnity  as  the  most  valuable  estate :  thus,  at  the  com¬ 
mencement  of  a  breviary  of  the  Bible,  there  is  a  memorial,  by 
the  donor,  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  of  its  bestowment  to  the 
‘‘library  built  in  the  church,”  etc. 

Books  were  deemed  of  such  value  in  those  times,  that  they 
were  often  pledged  to  learned  societies,  upon  which  a  deposit 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


Ill 


was  required.  Oxford  had  a  chest  for  books  thus  pledged, 
which,  if  not  redeemed  by  a  given  day,  became  the  property  of 
the  University.  In  the  year  1174,  one  Walter  Prior  pur¬ 
chased  of  the  monks  at  Winchester,  Bede's  Homilies  and  St. 
Austin's  Psalter ,  for  twelve  measures  of  barley  and  a  pall,  on 
which  was  embroidered  in  silver,  the  history  of  Birinas  con¬ 
verting  a  Saxon  king.  About  the  year  1255,  Roger  de  Insula , 
Dean  of  York,  gave  several  Latin  Bibles  to  the  University  of 
Oxford,  on  condition  that  the  student  who  perused  them  should 
deposit  a  cautionary  pledge. 

The  scarcity  of  parchment  was  one  of  the  principal  causes 
of  the  destruction  of  ancient  manuscripts ;  since  it  led  to  the 
erasure  of  the  more  ancient,  in  order  to  make  the  vellum  again 
available.  These  were  known  as  palimpsests.  This  barbar¬ 
ous  practice  prevailed  most  during  the  three  or  four  centuries 
which  preceded  the  revival  of  learning,  in  the  fourteenth  cen¬ 
tury.  Cardinal  Mai  is  believed  to  have  discovered  a  process 
for  recovering  these  obliterated  MSS. 

The  earliest  of  illuminated  manuscripts  are  probably  the 
Virgil  and  Terence  in  the  Library  of  the  Vatican;  and  the 
Homer  in  the  Ambrosian  Library  at  Milan.  There  exists  only 
one  manuscript  of  Tacitus ,  it  is  believed,  which  was  discovered 
in  a  monastery  in  Westphalia.  In  the  Imperial  Library  at 
Paris,  is  the  papyrus  of  Assa,  supposed  to  date  about  two  thou¬ 
sand  years  b.c. 

The  literary  treasures  of  antiquity  suffered  much  from  the 
barbaric  hordes,  which  overran  Europe  in  the  fifth  and  sixth 
centuries. 

A  learned  antiquary  observes :  “  Of  the  history  of  Polybius, 
which  once  contained  forty  books,  we  have  now  only  five.  Of 
the  historical  library  of  Diodorus  Siculus,  fifteen  books  only 
remain  out  of  forty,  and  half  of  the  Homan  antiquities  of 
Dionysius  Halicarnassus  have  perished.  Of  the  eighty  books 


112 


CURIOUS  AXD  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


of  the  history  of  Dion  Cassius,  twenty-five  only  remain.  Livy’s 
history  consisted  of  one  hundred  and  forty  books,  and  we 
only  possess  thirty-five  of  that  historian.” 

During  the  early  epochs  of  the  Christian  era,  literature  under¬ 
went  the  most  devastating  vicissitudes ;  religious  intolerance 
and  fanaticism  destroyed  some  of  the  most  precious  annals  of 
the  past.  Jew,  Christian,  and  Pagan  alike  vented  their  malice 
on  the  productions  of  genius. 

Said  Omar,  “  Either  these  books  are  in  conformity  with  the 
Koran ,  or  they  are  not :  if  they  are,  they  are  useless  ;  and  if 
not,  they  are  evil :  in  either  event,  therefore,  let  them  be  de¬ 
stroyed.”  Such  was  the  logic  that  devoted  to  destruction  seven 
hundred  thousand  manuscript  volumes  of  the  Alexandrian 
library ! 

The  earliest  public  library  of  which  we  have  any  record 
was  that  of  Osymandyas,  who  reigned  in  Egypt  six  hundred 
years  after  the  deluge.  That  of  Pisistratus,  in  Athens,  dates 
five  hundred  and  fifty  years  b.c.  The  next  was  the  great  Alex¬ 
andrian  collection ;  then  followed,  in  the  order  of  time,  the 
several  great  libraries  of  Europe. 

Among  the  earliest  illuminated  MSS.,  we  may  mention  the 
renowned  Codex  Argenteus ,  so  named  from  its  being  written 
in  liquid  silver,  upon  violet-colored  vellum.  It  is  a  magnifi¬ 
cent  specimen  of  its  kind,  and  is  further  remarkable  as  being 
the  only  extended  specimen  of  the  Mceso-Gothic  known  to  exist. 
It  exhibits  a  very  close  resemblance  to  printing,  although  exe¬ 
cuted  nearly  a  thousand  years  prior  to  the  discovery  of  the  art. 
This  choice  literary  relic  was  first  discovered  in  the  Benedic¬ 
tine  Abbey  of  Worden,  in  Westphalia,  about  the  year  1587 ;  it 
subsequently  passed  into  the  possession  of  Queen  Christine,  of 
Sweden,  then  into  that  of  Yossius,  and  was  finally  purchased 
by  a  northern  Count,  Gabriel  de  la  Gardie,  for  £250,  and  by 
him  presented  to  the  University  of  Upsala. 


CUBIC)  US  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


113 


Within  a  few  years,  an  ancient  MS.  copy  of  a  portion  of 
*  the  New  Testament,  written  in  the  Francic  language, has  been 
discovered  at  Rheims  Cathedral.  Its  date  is  the  eleventh  cen¬ 
tury  ;  and  is  supposed  to  have  been  used  in  administering  the 
coronation  oath  to  the  kings  of  France.  Bede  speaks  of  a 
magnificent  copy  of  the  Gospels  in  letters  of  the  purest  gold, 
upon  leaves  of  purple  parchment.  So  costly  a  mode  of  pro¬ 
ducing  manuscripts  could  not  have  become  general  in  any  age  ; 
accordingly  we  find  these  magnificent  specimens  were  expressly 
executed  for  the  nobles  and  princes  of  their  times,  or  the 
higher  dignitaries  of  the  Church.  An  instance  of  this  is  to  be 
seen  in  the  superb  Prayer  Booh ,  of  a  like  description  with 
the  foregoing,  with  the  addition  of  its  binding,  which  was  of 
pure  ivory,  studded  with  gems,  and,  we  believe,  is  yet  extant 
in  the  celebrated  Colbertine  library. 

We  next  meet  with  the  magnificent  Bible,  presented  by  his 
favorite  preceptor,  Aleuin,  librarian  to  the  Archbishop  of 
York,  to  the  great  Charlemagne,  Ojfter  lie  had  learned  to  read 
and  write  /  (for,  although  among  the  wisest  men  of  his  age,  he 
even  commenced  his  educational  course  at  the  tender  age  of 
forty-five.)  This  remarkable  copy  of  the  Bible  was  in  folio 
size,  richly  bound  in  velvet ;  its  embellishments  were  of  the 
most  superb  description,  its  frontispiece  being  brilliantly  orna¬ 
mented  with  gold  and  colors,  and  its  text  relieved  by  emblem¬ 
atic  devices,  pictures,  initial  letters,  etc.  This  curious  relic 
produced  at  auction,  in  1836,  the  sum  of  fifteen  hundred 
pounds. 

In  our  bibliographical  researches,  we  notice  many  striking 
illustrations  of  the  indefatigable  perseverance  and  ingenuity 
of  the  middle  ages.  One  of  the  most  conspicuous  instances  of 
the  kind  upon  record  is  that  of  Guido  de  Jars,  who  devoted 
upwards  of  half  a  century  to  the  production  of  a  manuscript 
copy  of  the  sacred  Scriptures,  beautifully  written  and  illumi- 
8 


114  CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 

Dated.  lie  began  it  in  his  fortieth  year,  and  did  not  finish  it 
until  his  ninetieth  (1294).  Few  who  have  inspected  such  rare 
specimens  of  monkish  taste  and  toil  fail  to  be  struck  with  their 
exceeding  beauty. 

One  of  the  most  celebrated  books  in  the  annals  of  biblio¬ 
graphy  is  the  richly  illuminated  Missal,  executed  for  the  Duke 
of  Bedford,  Regent  of  France  in  1430.  This  rare  volume  is 
eleven  inches  long,  seven  and  a  half  wide ;  it  contains  fifty- 
nine  large  illuminations  and  above  one  thousand  of  smaller 
size,  displayed  in  brilliant  borders  of  golden  foliage,  with  varie¬ 
gated  flowers,  richly  colored  and  illuminated  letters,  etc.  This 
relic,  after  passing  through  various  hands,  descended  to  the 
Duchess  of  Portland,  whose  valuable  collection  was  sold  by 
auction  in  1786,  when  George  III.  ordered  his  librarian  to  bid 
up  to  two  hundred  guineas  for  it ;  but  a  celebrated  collector, 
Mr.  Edwards,  purchased  the  coveted  relic,  by  adding  three 
pounds  more.  It  was  subsequently  sold,  by  auction,  at  Edwards’ 
sale  in  1815,  and  purchased  by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  for 
the  enormous  sum  of  £637  15s.  sterling! 

Amongst  the  numerous,  rare,  and  costly  relics  contained  in 
the  library  of  the  Vatican,  is  the  magnificent  Latin  Bible,  of 
the  Duke  of  Urbino ;  it  consists  of  two  large  folios,  embellished 
by  numerous  figures  and  landscapes,  in  the  ancient  arabesque, 
and  is  considered  a  wonderful  monument  of  art.  There  are 
also  some  autograph  MS.  of  Petrarch’s  “ llime ,”  which  evince 
to  what  an  extent  he  elaborated  his  versification.  The  muti¬ 
lated  parchment  scroll,  thirty-two  feet  in  length,  literally 
covered  with  beautiful  miniatures,  representing  the  history 
of  Joshua,  ornamenting  a  Greek  MS.  bearing  date  about  the 
seventh  century,  is,  perhaps,  the  greatest  literary  curiosity  of 
the  Vatican.  The  Menologus ,  or  Greek  Calendar,  illustrated 
by  four  hundred  brilliant  miniatures,  representing  the  martyr¬ 
dom  of  the  saints  of  the  Greek  Church,  with  views  of  the 


CURIOUS  AKD  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


115 


churches,  monasteries,  etc.,  is  also  curious,  as  presenting  speci¬ 
mens  of  the  Byzantium  school. 

Olfric,  the  Saxon  monk,  deserves  especial  mention  as  having 
achieved  the  good  work  of  rendering  portions  of  the  Old  Tes¬ 
tament  into  his  vernacular  tongue.  “Whosoever,”  says  he, 
u  shall  write  out  this  boke,  let  him  write  it  according  to  the 
Coptic,  and  for  God’s  love,  correct  it,  that  it  be  not  faultie,  lest 
he  thereby  be  discredited  and  I  shent.”  This  worthy  died 
a.d.  1006,  at  St.  Albans;  his  bones  were,  in  the-  reign  of 
Canute,  removed  to  Canterbury.  Lanfranc  was  another  labo¬ 
rious  and  erudite  scribe,  to  whose  industrious  toils  the  Chris¬ 
tian  world  owes  much;  and  which  the  perils  from  prejudices 
and  pious  frauds,  during  eight  centuries  of  superstition  and 
darkness,  failed  to  destroy.  He  ultimately  became  primate  of 
England,  and  patron  of  its  learning.  Another  eminent  guar¬ 
dian  of  the  Bible  was  the  worthy  Bishop  Anselm.  It  was  a 
noble  design  on  the  part  of  the  first  printers  to  rescue  from 
threatened  annihilation  the  great  classic  works  of  antiquity. 
Many  of  these,  as  already  said,  are  irretrievably  lost ;  and  those 
we  now  possess  narrowly  escaped  a  similar  fate.  The  preser¬ 
vation  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  however,  may  undoubtedly  be 
regarded  as  having  been  effected  through  the  special  interven¬ 
tion  of  Divine  Providence.  It  is  on  this  account  that  the 
integrity  of  the  sacred  text  is  regarded  as  unimpeachable,  and 
its  canonical  records  complete.  Distributed  in  fragments, 
which  were  hidden  in  obscure  recesses  of  monasteries  and 
cloisters,  it  may  well  provoke  our  wonder,  that,  notwithstand¬ 
ing  the  fierce  and  continued  violence  of  its  professed  opponents, 
this  inestimable  treasure  should  yet  have  descended  to  us  thus 
complete  and  perfect. 

There  were  upwards  of  six  thousand  early  copies  of  the 
Bible  or  portions  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures,  in  various  languages, 
in  the  library  of  the  late  Duke  of  Sussex. 


116 


CURIOUS  AXD  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


Besides  sixteen  vellum  copies  of  the  Vulgate,  there  were  two 
manuscript  Bibles,  profusely  embellished  with  about  one  hun¬ 
dred  exquisite  miniatures,  in  gold  and  colors.  In  another  copy 
there  were  nearly  fifty  illustrative  drawings,  of  a  very  curious 
description,  one  of  which  represented  Adam  delving  and  his 
spouse  spinning !  There  is  no  “  note  ”  to  indicate  the  name  of 
the  maker  of  the  spinning-wheel.  The  Duke’s  rich  collection 
comprised  some  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish  Bibles  ;  and  also  an 
Italian  manuscript,  entitled  “  Historia  de  Yecchio  Testamento,” 
which  is  decorated  with  about  five  hundred  and  twenty  minia¬ 
tures.  It  contained  in  addition  a  choice  copy  of  the  Bible  once 
Queen  Elizabeth's,  which  she  herself  embroidered  with  silver ; 
and  another  in  Arabic,  which  once  belonged  to  Tippoo  Saib. 

Horace  Walpole’s  collection,  at  Strawberry  Hill,  deserves  a 
passing  allusion.  The  proceeds  of  the  auction  sale  of  this  costly 
library  produced  nearly  thirty-eight  thousand  pounds.  Among 
its  numerous  objects  of  virtu  was  a  magnificent  missal,  per¬ 
fectly  unique,  and  superbly  illuminated,  being  enriched  with 
splendid  miniatures  by  Baffaelle,  set  in  pure  gold  and  enamel¬ 
led,  and  richly  adorned  with  turquoises,  rubies,  etc.  The  sides 
are  formed  of  two  matchless  cornelians,  with  an  intaglio  of  the 
crucifixion,  and  another  Scripture  subject;  the  clasp  is  set  with 
a  large  garnet.  This  precious  relic  was  executed  expressly  for 
Claude,  Queen  of  France ;  it  was  bought  by  the  Earl  Walde- 
grave  for  one  hundred  and  fifteen  guineas.  Another  curious 
and  costly  specimen  of  bibliography  was  a  sumptuous  volume, 
pronounced  by  the  cognoscenti  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
works  of  art  extant,  contaiuing  the  Psalms  of  David  written  on 
vellum,  embellished  by  twenty-one  inimitable  illuminations  sur¬ 
rounded  by  exquisite  scroll  borders  of  the  purest  arabesque,  of 
unrivalled  brilliancy.  Its  binding  is  of  corresponding  splendor. 
Its  date  is  about  1537.  This  little  gem  produced  the  sum  of 
four  hundred  and  twenty  guineas. 


CURIOUS  AXD  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


117 


Queen  Elizabeth,  it  appears  from  Dibdin,  was  a  bibliomaniac 
of  transcendent  fame ;  her  “  Oone  Gospell  Booke,  garnished 
on  th’  onside  with  the  crucifix,”  etc.,  is  a  precious  object  to  the 
virtuoso.  It  was  the  composition  of  Queen  Catherine  Parr, 
and  was  enclosed  in  solid  golcl ;  it  hung  by  a  gold  chain  at  her 
side,  and  was  the  frequent  companion  of  the  “  Virgin  Queen.” 
In  her  own  handwriting  at  the  beginning  of  the  volume,  the 
following  quaint  lines  appear  ;  “  I  walke  many  times  into  the 
pleasaunt  fieldes  of  the  Holie  Scriptures,  where  I  pluekeupthe 
goodliesome  lierbes  of  sentences  by  pruning ;  eate  them  by 
readin^e ;  chawe  them  by  musing;  and  laye  them  up  at  length 
in  ye  state  of  memorie  by  gathering  them  together ;  that  so, 
having  tasted  their  sweeteness,  I  may  the  lesse  perceave  the  bit- 
ternesse  of  this  miserable  life.”  This  was  penned  by  the 
Queen,  probably  while  she  was  in  captivity  at  "Woodstock,  as  the 
spirit  it  breathes  affords  a  Singular  contrast  to  the  towering 
haughtiness  of  her  ordinary  deportment.  A  melancholy  inter¬ 
est  attaches  to  everything  connected  with  the  career  of  the  hap¬ 
less  Mary  of  Scots ;  accordingly,  wm  find  great  value  is  placed 
on  the  missal  presented  to  the  Queen  by  Pius  V.,  and  which 
accompanied  her  to  the  scaffold.  The  illuminations  are  said  to 
be  of  extreme  beauty.  We  read  of  a  magnificent  missal,  nearly 
three  feet  in  height,  still  extant  in  the  library  at  Bouen,  which 
occupied  the  labor  of  a  monkish  devotee  upwards  of  thirty  years. 
DTsraeli  also  refers  to  a  huge  copy  of  the  Koran — probably 
without  a  parallel,  as  to  its  size ,  in  the  annals  of  letters.  The 
characters  are  described  as  three  inches  long  ;  the  book  itself  a 
foot  in  thickness,  and  its  other  dimensions  five  feet  by  three. 

The  celebrated  Yaldarfer’s  (first)  edition  of  Boccaccio' s 
Decameron , — only  one  complete  copy  of  which  is  believed  to 
exist, — owes  its  preservation  to  the  ingenuity  of  its  first  posses¬ 
sor  ;  wdio,  during  the  crusade  against  classic  literature,  had  it 
lettered, — “ Concilium  Tridentinum  ”  /  This  copy  became, 


11 8 


CURIOUS  AXD  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


in  1812  at  an  auction  sale,  the  object  of  an  animated  contest 
between  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  Earl  Spencer,  when  it 
became  the  property  of  the  former.  Some  years  after,  Lord 
Spencer  bought  it,  at  the  sale  of  the  Marlborough  library,  for 
the  sum  of  £875  !  Amono;  the  rare  literary  treasures  in  the 
Spencerian  library,  may  be  named  the  five  splendid  folios  of 
Shakspeare’s  historical  plays,  profusely  illustrated  by  the 
hand  of  the  Countess  of  Lucan,  who  devoted  sixteen  years  of 
pleasure-toil  to  the  completion  of  this  magnificent  work.  The 
richly  colored  illuminations  are  from  the  best  authorities,  and 
consist  of  historic  scenes  and  portraits.  Dibdin  speaks  of  this 
matchless  production  as  “  ablaze  with  gold  and  brilliant  colors, 
from  beginning  to  end  ”  ! 

Antoine  Zarot,  an  eminent  printer  at  Milan,  about  1470,  was 
the  first  on  record  who  printed  the  missal.  Among  other 
works  his  execution  in  colors  of  the  celebrated  Missale  Roma- 
num  in  folio,  afforded  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  art.  The 
manuscript  copy  seems  to  have  been  of  a  most  dazzling  descrip¬ 
tion  ;  every  leaf  is  appropriately  ornamented  with  miniatures, 
surrounded  with  exquisitely  elaborated  borders.  Its  almost  in¬ 
numerable  initials,  which  are  richly  illuminated  in  gold  and 
colors,  render  it  unsurpassed  by  any  known  production  of  its 
class.  It  has  been  estimated  at  250  guineas.  The  Comjplu- 
tensian  Polyglott ,  otherwise  known  as  Cardinal  Ximenes’, 
deserves  a  passing  notice  among  the  renowned  books  of  by¬ 
gone  times.  This  prodigious  work  was  commenced  under  the 
auspices  of  the  above-named  prelate  in  1502,  and  for  fifteen 
years  the  labor  was  continued  without  intermission  ;  its  entire 
cost  amounted  to  50,000  golden  crowns!  Of  the  four  large 
vellum  copies,  one  is  in  the  Vatican,  another  in  the  Escurial, 
and  a  third  was  bought  at  the  sale  of  the  McCarthy  library,  for 
600  guineas. 

About  1572  we  meet  with  another  splendid  production — 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


119 


the  Spanish  Polyglott ,  printed  by  Christopher  Plantin.  A  most 
magnificent  copy  upon  vellum,  in  the  original  binding,  was  sold 
in  London  some  thirty  years  since,  for  one  thousand  guineas  ! 
and  enormous  as  was  this  price,  the  copy  was  imperfect,  want¬ 
ing  three  out  of  the  ten  volumes. 

Bowyer,  the  well-known  publisher,  devoted  the  leisure  hours 
of  nearly  a  lifetime,  in  illustrating  a  copy  of  Macklin’s 
folio  Bible,  which  on  his  death  was  put  up  at  lottery  among 
four  thousand  subscribers  at  a  guinea  each.  It  contained  seven 
thousand  engravings ;  bound  in  forty-five  folio  volumes  ! 

Another  indefatigable  collector,  Mr.  Bell,  of  Manchester, 
has  even  surpassed  Bowyer,  in  the  same  department.  This 
copy  was  illustrated  with  nearly  ten  thousand  engravings,  and 
about  eleven  hundred  original  drawings  and  photographs,  to¬ 
gether  with  360  specimen  leaves  of  old  and  rare  editions  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures.  This  sumptuous  work  comprises  sixty- three 
large  folio  volumes ! 

A  copy  of  Clarendon's  “  History  of  the  Rebellion”  was 
copiously  illustrated  by  Mr.  Sutherland,  of  London,  at  an  ex¬ 
pense  of  nearly  ten  thousand  pounds !  This  work,  together 
with  Burnet's  “  Reformation ,”  containing  nineteen  thou¬ 
sand  engravings  and  drawings, — both,  the  result  of  forty  years’ 
labor, — are  now  among  the  rarities  of  the  Bodleian  Library, 
Oxford.  These  superb  works  form  sixty-seven  uniform  vol¬ 
umes.  Another  bibliophile,  Mr.  G.  H.  Freeling,  illustrated  a 
copy  of  the  “  Bibliographical  Decameron ,”  extending  it  from 
three  to  eleven  volumes,  which  Dibdin  considered  the  most  stu¬ 
pendous  triumph  of  book-ardor  with  which  he  was  acquainted. 

The  well-known  names  of  John  Nicholls  and  John  Boydell, 
publishers  of  London,  take  prominent  rank  among  the  pro¬ 
ducers  of  splendid  books  ; — they  have  the  credit  of  having  ex¬ 
pended  the  princely  sum  of  £350,000  in  fostering  and  improv¬ 
ing  the  sister  arts  of  painting  and  engraving.  Their  magnificent 


120 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


“  ShaJcspeare  Gallery  ”  is  even  to  this  day  a  noble  monument 
of  their  enterprise  and  skill.  The  gigantic  speculation  unfor¬ 
tunately  failed,  superinducing  a  loss  to  its  projectors  of  over 
£100,000.  Every  one  has  probably  heard  of  Dugdale’s  “ Mon - 
asticon  Anglicanum ,”  in  eight  huge  folios,  illustrated. 

Murphy’s  “ Arabian  Antiquities  of  Spain”  a  beautiful 
specimen  of  art,  cost  ten  thousand  guineas  in  its  execution. 
Its  exquisite  line  engravings  discover  wonderful  finish.  The 
splendid  ceremonial  of  the  coronation  of  George  IV.,  under 
the  superintendence  of  the  late  Sir  George  Naylor,  of  the 
Herald’s  College,  furnishes  another  illustrious  instance  of  costly 
bibliography.  Notwithstanding  the  grant  of  the  government 
of  £5,000  towards  the  expenses,  the  undertaking  also  was  a 
great  pecuniary  failure.  It  contained  a  series  of  magnificent 
paintings  of  the  royal  procession,  banquet,  etc.,  comprehending 
faithful  portraits  of  the  leading  personages.  The  subscription 
price  of  a  copy  of  the  work  was  fifty  guineas. 

Some  years  ago,  a  typographical  wonder  was  exhibited  in 
London,  being  a  sumptuous  edition  of  the  New  Testament, 
printed  in  gold,  on  porcelain  paper  of  the  most  immaculate 
beauty,  and,  for  the  first  time,  on  both  sides.  Two  years  were 
occupied  in  perfecting  the  work.  Only  one  hundred  copies 
were  taken  off. 

The  far-famed  Greek  Testament  of  Erasmus,  printed  at 
Basle,  1519,  but  one  copy  of  which  is  now  known  to  exist,  is 
in  the  cathedral  of  York.  That  renowned  collector,  Sir  Mark 
Sykes,  was  refused  the  purchase  of  this  rarity  at  the  prodigious 
offer  of  one  thousand  guineas. 

The  most  costly  undertaking  ever  attempted  by  a  single  in¬ 
dividual,  of  a  literary  character,  which  unquestionably  the 
world  has  yet  seen,  is  the  magnificent  work  on  “  Mexico ,”  by 
Lord  Kingsborough.  This  stupendous  work  is  said  to  have 
been  produced  at  an  enormous  cost  to  the  author.  It  is  com- 


CURIOUS  AYD  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


121 


prised  in  seven  immense  folio  volumes,  embellished  by  about 
one  thousand  colored  illustrations.  An  item  of  sad  interest  is 
connected  with  the  publication  of  this  remarkable  work.  After 
devoting  the  princely  sum  of  £60,000  to  its  production,  such 
was  his  enthusiasm  in  the  work,  that  he  became  involved  in 
debt  on  its  account,  and  ultimately  died  in  debt. 

Perhaps,  the  greatest  bibliographic  monument  ever  erected 
to  any  author  is  Halliwell’s  superb  edition  of  Shakspeare,  in 
seventeen  splendid  folio  volumes. 

Audubon’s  great  work  on  the  “  Birds  of  America  ”  is  the 
grandest  monument  of  art,  of  its  class,  ever  produced.  These 
plates,  representing  the  birds, — from  the  eagle  to  the  humming¬ 
bird, — are  all  life-size,  and  carefully  colored.  The  engravings 
were  executed  in  London,  at  a  cost  of  twenty  thousand  pounds. 
The  original  drawings  have  been  deposited  with  the  New 
York  Historical  Society.  There  are  so  many  great  works  of 
art,  and  archaeological  research,  that  we  can  but  name  them 
briefly.  DanieVs  Oriental  Scenery ,  with  one  hundred  and 
fifty  large  folio  colored  drawings,  of  the  ruins  of  Delhi,  Ele- 
phanta,  and  Lucknow ;  Champollion' s  Egypt ,  four  folio  vol¬ 
umes  ;  Napoleon? s  great  work  on  Egyptian  Antiquities ,  ten 
folio  volumes,  a  monument  of  unrivalled  magnificence,  until 
Lepsius ’  superb  work  on  the  same  subject  made  its  appear¬ 
ance,  in  twelve  atlas  folios.  Piranesi? s  sumptuous  works  on 
Roman  Antiquities ,  in  twenty-one  folio  volumes,  published  at 
Venice,  1778,  is  an  exhaustless  treasury  of  classic  art.  Peret's 
Catacombs  of  Rome,  in  five  folios,  is  another  superb  produc¬ 
tion — unrivalled  in  its  department.  Another  great  pictorial 
wonder  is,  Sylvestre's  Paleographie  TJniverselle ,  in  four  folio 
volumes,  enriched  with  three  hundred  brilliant  illuminations, 
fac-similes  of  the  most  sumptuous  of  mediaeval  manuscripts. 
Yet  other  works  of  this  class  are  Owen  Jones's  Illuminated 
Books  of  the  Middle  Ages ,  folio  ;  and  Count  Bastard? s  work 


122 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


on  the  same  subject,  still  more  lavishly  enriched  with  gold, 
silver,  and  brilliantly  colored  illustrations.  Many  other  great 
Governmental  works  have  been  published,  such  as  that  by  the 
Emperor  of  Bussia,  entitled  “  Les  Peuples  de  la  Russie ,”  and 
Zahn’s  Pompeii ,  in  three  elephant  folios,  an  instance  of  lavish 
devotion  to  art.  But  it  is  impossible  to  enumerate  more,  within 
these  prescribed  limits. 

Then  there  are  those  great  galleries  of  engravings;  from  the 
Louvre  and  elsewhere, — the  spoils  of  the  Napoleonic  campaigns 
— the  Musee  Franqais ,  and  Musee  Royal ,  making  six  folio 
volumes.  The  splendid  work  of  Pistolesi ,  11  Vatieano ,  in 
seven  royal  folios,  containing  seven  hundred  pictures,  is  worthy 
of  note  ;  and  Count  Littd’s  Noble  Families  of  Italy,  printed  in 
princely  style  at  the  count’s  palace,  forming  five  large  folio 
volumes.  This  superb  work  is  enriched  with  numerous  illum¬ 
inations  and  colored  portraits,  like  ivory  miniatures.  Splendid 
as  are  these  costly  productions,  they  are  surpassed  by  some 
others;  such  as  Raphael’s  Loggie ,  three  folios, — comprising 
fac-similes  of  the  magnificent  frescos  of  the  Vatican,  by  this 
prince  of  painters. 

Some  old  books,  like  old  wines,  acquire  an  increased  value  in 
proportion  to  their  age.  The  best  copy  extant  of  Caxton’s  edition 
of  Gower’s  “ De  Confessione  Amantis  ” — one  of  the  rarest  of 
early  printed  books,  was  purchased  by  a  Dublin  bookseller,  in 
1832,  with  some  unimportant  volumes,  for  a  mere  trifle ;  and 
was  sold  afterwards  for  upwards  of  three  hundred  pounds  ! 
It  is  now  in  the  celebrated  collection  of  Lord  Spencer,  at  Al- 
thorp.  The  mania  for  old  books  still  exists  in  full  force,  both 
in  the  old  world  and  the  new.  Among  celebrated  collectors  of 
early  and  later  times,  might  be  named  Richard  de  Bury,  au¬ 
thor  of  “  Philobiblion,”  who  is  supposed  to  have  had  the  largest 
library  in  all  England ;  Archbishop  Usher  /  Sir  Thomas  Bod- 
ley,  the  first  founder  of  a  public  library ;  Francis  Douce  /  John 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  BOOKS. 


123 


Evelyn ,  in  whose  library  was  found  the  Prayer-book  which 
Charles  I.  used  as  he  was  led  to  the  scaffold  at  Whitehall ; 
Montaigne ,  the  essayist;  Oldys ,  the  antiquary;  Dr.  Parr; 
Heber ;  Dr.  Kloss ,  of  Frankfort;  the  Duke  of  Sussex , 
whose  collections  were  so  rich  in  Biblical  rarities ;  the  costly 
library  of  Earl  Spencer,  which  Dibdin  has  so  ably  chronicled ; 
and  lastly  that  of  Southey ,  the  voluminous  penmau  and  poet. 

The  richest  bindings  belong  to  the  age  of  Charlemagne, 
and  a  century  or  two  later.  The  decorations  partook  of  the 
barbaric  splendor  of  those  days.  One  such  volume  presented 
by  that  sovereign  to  the  cathedral  at  Treves,  is  enriched  with 
Roman  ivories  and  decorative  gems.  Our  American  literary 
collectors  have  been  not  a  few,  but  to  mention  two  or  three  will 
suffice  :  James  Lenox ,  who  has  projected  a  magnificent  library 
— possibly  to  compete  ultimately  with  the  renowned  Astor 
Library.  Mr.  Lenox’s  collection  includes  many  rarities,  and  the 
only  copy  in  America  of  the  Mazarine  Bible — so  called  from 
its  having  been  discovered  in  the  cardinal’s  library.  It  is  the 
first  book  printed  with  metal  types,  and  cost  §2,500.  The 
Astor  Library  comprises  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
volumes ;  a  large  proportion  of  which  consists  of  the  most 
valuable  national  productions  of  the  various  countries  of  Eu¬ 
rope — works  not  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  America.  Several 
other  gentlemen  have  or  had  rich  private  libraries :  Sparks  ; 
Ticknor ,  of  Boston  ;  Brown ,  of  Providence  ;  Peter  Force ,  of 
Washington,  and  Barlow ,  of  Yew  York. 

Here,  then,  we  terminate  our  rambles  among  the  literary 
spoils  of  past  ages,  garnered  in  our  great  libraries,  all  over  the 
world.  ’We  have  not,  however,  noted  a  tithe,  nay,  a  hundredth 
part,  of  these  art-treasures ;  and  what  we  have  glanced  at,  in¬ 
deed,  seem  but  just  enough  to  cause  us,  with  “Oliver  Twist,”  to 
“  call  for  more.”  Let  us,  then,  with  Channing  thank  God  for 
books.  “They  are  the  voices  of  the  distant  and  the  dead,  and 


124 


CURIOUS  AND  COSTLY  LOOKS. 


make  us  heirs  of  the  spiritual  life  of  past  ages.  Books  are  the 
true  levellers.  They  give  to  all  who  will  faithfully  use  them, 
the  society,  the  spiritual  presence  of  the  best  and  greatest  of 
our  race.  No  matter  how  poor  I  am  ;  no  matter  how  obscure 
my  dwelling,  if  the  sacred  waiters  will  enter  and  take  up  their 
abode  under  my  roof.  If  Milton  will  sing  to  me  of  Paradise, 
and  Shakspeare  open  to  me  the  worlds  of  imagination  and  the 
workings  of  the  human  heart,  and  Franklin  enrich  me  with  his 
practical  wisdom,  I  shall  not  pine  for  intellectual  companion¬ 
ship.” 


A  > 


•  >N 
M  '  ' 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

Scholar, — nothing  is  not  something,  or  anything;  and, 
although  it  sounds  like  a  self-evident  proposition,  yet  we  are 
bold  to  affirm,  that  nothing  is  nothing.  Wherever  something 
is  not,  there  is  nothing ;  yet  so  far  from  its  being  a  mere  non¬ 
entity,  nothing  is  often  the  result  of  much  laborious  scholastic 
and  literary  effort.  It  might  be  deemed,  perchance,  an  im¬ 
pertinence,  or  an  infraction  of  modesty,  to  lay  claim  to  such  a 
triumphant  issue  for  this  our  humble  essay ;  but  we  are  con¬ 
soled  by  the  reflection,  that  Fame’s  favorites  are  but  few,  and 
her  boasted  chaplet  of  glory  is  really  next  to — nothing. 

Some  misguided  mortals  waste  their  whole  time  in  the 


126 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


fruitless  pursuit  of  nothing ;  and  they  $re  successful  in  the 
accomplishment  of  their  purpose.  Charles  Lamb ,  who  was 
a  lover  of  elegant  leisure,  once  lazily  remarked  that  “  the 
best  thing  a  man  can  have  to  do  is  nothing  •  and  next  to  that, 
perhaps,  good  works  !  ”  “  Masterly  inactivity  ”  is  the  distin* 

guishing  characteristic  of  some  persons,  who  think  it  the  best 
way  of  getting  through  life :  yet  we  are  told  that  laboriously 
doing  nothing  actually  resulted  in  the  death  of  the  renowned 
Marshal  Turenne. 

This  invisible  nothing  is  said  to  fill  an  exhausted  receiver ; 
and  that  it  is  all  the  same  whether  it  be  an  empty  tumbler,  an 
empty  purse,  or  an  empty  head. 

The  antiquity  of  nothing  is  something  considerable,  far 
exceeding  that  of  everything  else;  for  it  is  evident  that  if 
nothing  did  not  go  before,  something  could  not  follow. 

Even  the  eleemosynary  tendencies  of  some  individuals  result 
in  nothing ;  as  the  case  of  a  certain  party,  of  whom  some  dona¬ 
tion  was  solicited,  clearly  attests.  “  Charity’s  a  private  con¬ 
cern,”  said  he  ;  “  other  gentlemen  puts  down  what  they  thinks 
proper,  and  so  do  I ;  and  what  I  gives,  is — nothing  to  nobody  ”  ! 

Like  the  aforesaid,  then,  we  offer  nothing,  and  we  trust  we 
shall  not  be  deemed  penurious  or  illiberal,  since,  if  nothing 
is  bestowed,  no  obligation  will  be  incurred ;  and  no  apology 
demanded.  Everything  is  of  some  snpposable  value  and 
interest  to  somebody ;  but  nothing  concerns  nobody,  and  is  of 
no  value ;  yet  out  of  nothing  what  marvels  have  sprung  into 
being.  Of  this  remarkable  negative  noun , — this  cipher  in 
figures,  this  ghostly  representative  of  vacuity, — so  long  min¬ 
gling  with  our  social  existence,  and  yet  so  mythical,  wdiat 
further  can  be  affirmed  that  has  not  been  already  stated  \ 
Marvellous  and  mystical  as  it  is, — ideal  as  it  seems  to  be, — 
nothing  is  yet  real ;  and,  at  any  rate,  it  occupies  our  attention 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


127 


at  this  present  writing,  or  reading,  and  consequently  we  must 
be,  each  of  us,  so  far  interested  in  discussing — nothing. 

But  to  resume.  Although  most  persons  prefer  something  as 
the  theme  of  their  discourse,  by  way  of  variety,  and  for  the 
sake  of  steering  out  of  the  beaten  track,  we  still  insist  on 
nothing.  That  the  origin  of  this  shadowless  subject,  like  much 
of  our  legendary  lore,  is  enveloped  in  the  mists  of  remote  an¬ 
tiquity,  as  well  as  shrouded  in  the  obscurity  of  modern  meta¬ 
physics,  will  not  be  disputed.  It  will  be  further  admitted  that 
nothing  is  a  slender  peg  to  hang  any  ideas  upon ;  it  is  pre¬ 
mised,  therefore,  that  the  expectations  of  the  reader,  in  this 
respect,  should  be  restrained  within  moderate  limits,  as  other¬ 
wise  it  is  possible,  from  paucity  of  wit  on  our  part,  the  present 
attempt  at  its  illustration  may  prove  less  than  nothing. 

Nothing,  or  no  thing,  is  applied  either  as  a  noun  or  adjective 
— stands  for  non-existence — non-entity  or  nihility  (from  the 
Latin  root  nihil).  Its  antagonistic  term  is  something  •  and, 
although  it  is  like  comparing  shadow  with  substance,  yet,  how¬ 
ever  invidious  the  comparison  may  prove,  we  are  of  necessity 
compelled  to  adopt  the  alternative.  Talk  of  the  mysteries  of 
metaphysics — what  are  they  as  contrasted  with  the  inextricable 
mazes  of  this  strange,  indescribable  phantasm  ?  What,  indeed, 
can  be  affirmed  of  a  thing  that  has  no  physical  existence  \  All 
we  can  say  of  it  is,  that  it  is  not  extant,  or  in  legal  phrase — non 
est  inventus.  In  this  dilemma,  our  only  escape  is  to  treat  it  nega¬ 
tively  ;  this  indeed  seems  perfectly  consistent  with  the  nature 
and  attributes  of  our  ghostly  subject.  Again,  nothing^  noth¬ 
ing  ;  not  any-thing,  but  no-thing ;  its  history  consequently  is  a 
series  of  negations — no  beodnnin^ — no  existence — no  end  ;  and 
yet,  paradoxical  as  it  may  sound,  nothing  is  associated  with 
almost  everything.  It  enters  into  all  the  sinuosities  and  diver¬ 
sified  circumstances  of  our  social  economy,  as  well  as  links  itself 
with  the  sublime  story  of  the  stellar  firmament.  In  this  view, 


128 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


our  intangible  topic  begins  to  assume  a  seemingly  opaque  form. 
For  example,  the  great  globe  we  inhabit  is  suspended  upon 
nothing ;  and  as  to  its  original  substance,  for  aught  we  know  to 
the  contrary,  it  was  evoked  into  being  by  the  hat  of  its  Divine 
Author — out  of  nothing.  And  as  it  seems  to  have  puzzled 
astronomers  to  determine  both  the  origin  and  destiny  of  the 
moon,  conjecture  may  not  go  widely  astray,  if  a  like  mysteri¬ 
ous  paternity  be  assigned  to  that  luminous  orb  the  poets  and 
lovers  so  delight  to  celebrate. 

‘  ‘  The  ancients  have  work’d  upon  each  thing  in  nature, 

Describ’d  its  variety,  genius,  and  feature ; 

They  having  exhausted  all  fancy  could  bring, 

As  nothing  is  left,  why  of  nothing  we  sing. — 

From  nothing  we  came,  and  whatever  our  station, 

To  nothing  we  owe  an  immense  obligation. 

“  Thinking  of  nothing  is  some  folk’s  enjoyment, 

Doing  of  nothing  is  many’s  employment ; 

The  love  of  this  nothing  have  some  folks  so  strong 
They  say  nothing — do  nothing  all  the  day  long ; 

Some  pass  their  time  nothing  beginning, 

By  nothing  losing,  and  by  nothing  winning ; 

Nothing  they  buy,  and  nothing  they  sell, 

Nothing  they  know,  and  nothing  they  tell. 

“  Thus  much  in  conclusion,  we  prove  pretty  plain  : 

Take  nothing  from  nothing,  there’ll  nothing  remain  ; 

Thus  with  this  nothing  the  time  out  we’re  spinning, 

Nothing  will  sometimes  set  many  folks  grinning.  ” 

A  certain  English  bishop,  on  a  certain  occasion,  found,  to  liis 
surprise,  placed  on  his  pulpit,  in  lieu  of  his  usual  written  ser¬ 
mon,  merely  some  sheets  of  blank  paper — to  wit,  nothing. 
His  presence  of  mind,  however,  furnished  him  ample  material 
— for  he  is  said  to  have  preached  one  of  the  best  discourses  he 
ever  delivered.  lie  commenced  by  saying,  “  Here,  my  breth¬ 
ren,  is  nothing  ;  and  out  of  nothing  God  created  the  world  ”  ! 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


129 


Many  a  sermon  lias  ended  in  nothing,  but  this  is  the  only  in¬ 
stance  we  remember  in  which  nothing  furnished  its  commence¬ 
ment,  its  substance,  and  its  close.  Again,  nothing  is  the  very 
life  and  soul  of  many  spasmodic  jokes. 

Many  things  are  poetically  said  to  “end  in  smoke,”  more 
may  be  truthfully  said  to  result  in  nothing.  How  many  bright 
and  cherished  schemes  of  the  devotees  of  mammon  resolve 
themselves  into  nothing  !  The  same  may  be  predicated  of  the 
plotting  manoeuvres  of  designing  dowagers  in  the  game  of 
husband-hunting,  of  the  hapless  adventurer  in  pursuit  of  mat¬ 
rimony  “  under  difficulties,”  and  of  the  golden  visions  of 
deluded  diggers  at  the  auriferous  sands  of  the  Pacific. 

Nothing  seems  to  pervade  almost  every  department  of  our 
social  existence.  Many  a  man  of  opulence  will  boastingly  as¬ 
sure  you,  he  began  the  world  with  nothing,  and  found  it  first- 
rate  capital ;  another  less  favored  of  blind  fate  or  fortune, 
failing  in  the  like  experiment,  deplores  its  delusive  cheat,  yet 
still  clinging  to  the  deception,  keeps  next  to  nothing  all  his 
life. 

Every  one,  doubtless,  remembers  the  story  of  the  economic 
individual,  whose  inventive  wit  brought  his  horse  to  live  upon 
nothing — and,  at  the  same  time,  to  a  finish  of  his  existence. 
If  the  famishing  for  the  food  animal  complain  of  their  im¬ 
poverished  condition,  ought  not  our  sympathies  to  be  extended 
towards  those  who,  though  luxuriously  cared  for  in  all  other 
respects,  pine  with  intellectual  starvation, — whose  heads,  in¬ 
stead  of  being  luminous  with  undying  thoughts,  present  noth¬ 
ing.  The  remark  is  no  less  applicable  to  the  human  heart — 
the  fabled  shrine  of  the  affections.  What  a  pleasing  and  uni¬ 
versal  fiction  is  it  to  suppose  that  anything  of  the  kind  really 
exists  in  that  sentimental  locality — at  least,  in  many  instances ! 
Some,  in  their  vain  search  for  the  mysterious  organ,  wishing  to 
take  the  most  indulgent  view  of  the  matter,  apologetically  sug- 
9 


130 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


* 

gest,  in  behalf  of  the  “  heartless,”  “  that  his  heart  cannot  be 
in  the  right  place  ” — the  stern  truth  being,  that  nothing  is 
there  in  its  stead. 

Have  you  ever  known  any  expectant  patiently  linger  and 
long  for  the  demise  of  some  remarkable  instance  of  longevity, 
vainly  hoping  to  share  some  pecuniary  immunity ;  yet  all  his 
patience  ending  in — nothing?  There  is,  again,  a  class  of  bold 
individuals  who  are  astonished  at  nothing — they  make  noth¬ 
ing  of  a  trip  across  the  Atlantic — the  grand  tour  of  Europe — 
a  voyage  to  the  Celestials — or  an  expedition  to  the  El  Dorado 
of  the  West.  Such  imperturbable  spirits  there  are,  who  make 
nothing  of  wearing  a  shabby  coat  and  worse  continuations — 
nothing  of  breaking  their  word  of  honor — or  of  intruding  with- 
out  permission  into  their  neighbor’s  house,  and  under  the 
strange  hallucination  that  meum  and  tuum  are  convertible 
terms,  display  their  fancy  in  the  selection  and  appropriation 
of  whatever  they  can  most  conveniently  secure.  Again,  there 
are  frigid  subjects  who  make  nothing  of  the  scorching  rays  of  a 
meridian  summer  sun  ;  others  who  place  the  like  estimate  upon 
the  withering  blasts  of  a  northern  winter.  Some,  also,  who  act 
as  though  the  profession  and  acting  out  of  a  religious  life  were 
nothing — and  that  time  and  eternity  shared  the  like  estimate. 
But  we  shall  weary  the  reader  with  rambling  repetitions ;  and 
truth  to  say,  we  do  not  yet  see  “  the  beginning  of  the  end  ”  of  our 
topic.  If  we  may  take  breath,  and  venture  an  anticipatory 
conclusion,  we  should  say  that  nothing  is  ecumenic — and  that 
it  is  not  only  antithetical  with,  but  twin-brother  of,  something ; 
for  nothing  negatively,  is  something — but  positively — nothing ; 
it  is  yet  always  in  close  proximity,  or  juxtaposition,  with — 
something.  Nothing  seems  to  possess  advantages  over  meta¬ 
physics,  if  not  indeed  over  everything  else — for  the  former  ad¬ 
dresses  our  reason  merely,  the  latter  our  senses  ;  for  we  can  see 
nothing.  Who,  hunting  a  ghost  in  a  haunted  room,  or  anv 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


131 


other  wild-goose  chase,  has  not  returned  answer,  that  lie  savj 
nothing ?  [Nothing  may  be  heard,  but  only  when  everybody 
and  everything  else  is  silent ;  it  may  also  be  tasted — for  who  has 
not  heard  the  expressively  laconic  complaint  from  a  dissatisfied 
palate,  that  it  tastes  like  nothing.  The  same  may  be  predi¬ 
cated  of  the  senses  of  smelling  and  feeling.  Some,  as  we  be¬ 
fore  intimated,  are  impervious  to  feeling  under  any  calamity; 
yet  they  feel  nothing.  Such  is  the  immobility  of  others,  that 
the  loss  of  property,  character,  friends,  or  relations,  are  all 
nothing  to  them. 

Some,  again,  love  nothing;  others,  more  amiable,  hate  it ;  and 

others,  more  bold,  are  said  to  fear  nothing.  Some  erudite 

authors  fill  their  ponderous  pages  in  reality  with — nothing. 

What,  indeed,  could  afford  more  demonstrable  evidence  of  its 

verity  than  this  present  writing — nothing  commenced  it,  noth- 

% 

ing  continued  it,  and — nothing  must  close  it ;  and  as  this  brings 
us  to  the  dilemma  of  its  endless  duration,  we  at  once  take  ref¬ 
uge  in  the  following  clever  “  summing  up 55  of  a  sonnet  by  an 
anonymous  writer : 

“  Mysterious  nothing !  how  shall  I  define 

Thy  shapeless,  baseless,  placeless  emptiness ; 

Nor  form,  nor  color,  sound,  nor  size  are  thine, 

Nor  words,  nor  fingers,  can  thy  voice  express  ; 

But  though  we  cannot  thee  to  aught  compare, 

A  thousand  things  to  thee  may  likened  be, 

And  though  thou  art  with  nobody  nowhere, 

Yet  half  mankind  devote  themselves  to  thee. 

How  many  books  thy  history  contain, 

How  many  heads  thy  mighty  plans  pursue, 

What  lab’ring  hands  thy  portion  only  gain, 

What  busybodies  thy  doings  only  do  ! 

To  thee  the  great,  the  proud,  the  giddy  bend, 

And,  like  my  sonnet — all  in  nothing  end.” 

We  might  here,  perhaps,  have  effected  a  safe  retreat  from  the 
entanglement  of  our  knotty  topic,  were  we  not  desirous  of  aton- 


132 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


ing  for  our  trifling  by  an  attempt  to  educe  a  moral  from  it. 
Lest  some  should  think  we  have  proved  the  obverse  of  what  we 
proposed,  and  actually  made  nothing  out  of  nothing,  we  are 
frank  to  confess  this  is  not  what  we  designed,  in  the  treat¬ 
ment  of  this  untenable  and  intractable  topic.  But  to  our  moral. 

Some  unfortunate  persons,  there  may  be,  who  are  accustomed 
erroneously  to  construe  the  term  we  have  so  often  played  upon, 
as  synonymous  with  others  of  a  very  different  signification. 

For  instance,  those  who  are  addicted  to  libations  deep  would 
have  you  believe  that  intoxication  is  nothing, — so  would  the 
purloin  er,  theft ;  the  profane,  swearing;  the  indolent,  industry; 
and  the  man  of  violence,  murder. 

“  ’Tis  nothing,  says  the  fool ;  but,  says  his  friend, 

’Tis  nothing,  sir,  will  bring  you  ta  your  end  !  ” 

And  this  sagacious  couplet  ought  to  bring  us  to  ours, — in  the 
words  of  a  well-remembered  classic  author,  which  may  be  con¬ 
strued  according  to  the  taste  of  the  reader,  without  impugning 
the  modesty  of  the  writer : 

“  Nihil  tetigit  non  omavit !  ” 

Should  the  reader  still  be  curious  to  see — nothing ,  he  has 
only  to  close  his  eyes ;  and  if,  in  conclusion,  he  requires  any 
further  description  of  the  aforesaid,  we  sum  all  the  testimony 
by  stating,  that  it  is  that  which, 

‘  ‘  The  contented  man  desires ; 

The  poor  man  has ;  the  rich  requires ; 

The  miser  gives ;  the  spendthrift  saves  ; 

And  all  must  carry  to  their  graves.” 

In  our  analysis  of  nothing ,  we  ought  not  to  forget  its  first 
syllable  no — the  second  syllable — thing ,  may  speak  for  itself. 
Anything  is  not  no-thing ;  but  a  thing  is  a  thing ;  this  is  a 
self-evident  proposition.  A  contemporary  *  has  so  ably  discussed 


*  Merchants’  Ledger. 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


133 


the  little  negation,  that  we  take  the  liberty  of  presenting  his 
strictures  to  the  reader  : 

“  A  very  little  wrnrd  is  No.  It  is  composed  of  but  two  let¬ 
ters  and  only  forms  a  syllable.  In  meaning  it  is  so  definite  as 
to  defy  misunderstanding.  Young  lips  find  its  articulation 
easy.  Diminutive  in  size,  evident  in  import,  easy  of  utterance, 
frequent  in  use,  and  necessary  in  ordinary  speech,  it  seems  one 
of  the  simplest  and  most  harmless  of  all  words.  Yet  there  are 
those  to  whom  it  is  almost  a  terror.  Its  sound  makes  them 
afraid.  They  would  expurgate  it  from  their  vocabulary  if  they 
could.  The  little  monosyllable  sticks  in  their  throat.  Their 
pliable  and  easy  temper  inclines  them  to  conformity,  and  fre¬ 
quently  works  their  bane.  Assailed  by  the  solicitations  of 
pleasure  they  are  sure  to  yield,  for  at  once  and  resolutely  they 
will  not  repeat — No.  Plied  with  the  intoxicating  cup  they  sel¬ 
dom  overcome,  for  their  facile  nature  refuses  to  express  itself 
in — No.  Encountering  temptation  in  the  hard  and  duteous 
path  they  are  likely  to  falter  and  fall,  for  they  have  not  bold¬ 
ness  to  speak  out  the  decided  negative — No.  Amid  the  mists 
of  time,  and  involved  in  the  labyrinthine  mazes  of  error,  they 
are  liable  to  forget  eternal  verities  and  join  the  ribald  jest,  for 
they  have  not  been  accustomed  to  utter  an  emphatic — No. 

“  All  the  noble  souls  and  heroes  of  historv  have  held  them- 

t j 

selves  ready,  whenever  it  was  demanded,  to  say — No.  The 
poet  said — No,  to  the  sloth  and  indolence  which  consumed  his 
precious  hours,  and  wove  for  himself  in  heavenly  song  a  gar¬ 
land  of  immortality.  The  martyred  hosts  said — No,  to  the 
pagan  powers  that  demanded  a  recantation  of  their  faith,  and 
swift  from  the  fire  and  the  torture  their  souls  uprose  to  the 
rewards  and  beatitude  of  heaven.” 

No-body ,  seems  by  a  natural  affinity  to  belong  to  no-thing, 
so  something  ought  to  be  said  about  it. 

Eobody  is  a  most  mischievous  and  meddlesome  personage ; 


134 


SOMETHING  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


for  he  is  often  engaged  in  the  perpetration  of  some  marvellous 
deeds.  lie  is  often  guilty  of  arson,  murder,  and  other  grand 
misdemeanors  ;  he  stirs  up  strife,  and  severs  firm  friends.  It  is 
also  true  that  there  are  some  “  bright  lights  ”  in  his  character, 
and  occasionally  he  is  nobly  implicated  in  some  noble  acts  of 
beneficence. 

Possibly,  the  foregoing  talk  about  nothing  may  be  deemed 
very  nonsensical ;  and  yet,  a  little  nonsense  is,  sometimes,  ad¬ 
missible.  Confectionery,  at  any  rate,  finds  favor  with  the  fair, 
the  sterner  despise  the  dainty  trifies. 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


“Mirth  is  the  medicine  of  life, — 

It  cures  its  ills,  it  calms  its  strife ; 

It  softly  smooths  the  brow  of  care, 
And  writes  a  thousand  graces  there.” 


It  lias  been  justly  said  that  recreation,  exactly  considered,  is 
an  advantage  which  few,  if  any,  are  willing  altogether  to  forego, 
and  which  the  most  severe  philosophy  does  not  deny.  It  is,  in¬ 
deed,  in  one  form  or  other,  the  object  of  universal  pursuit — 
for  without  its  participation  to  some  extent,  life  would  lose  its 
principal  attraction,  and  mankind  would  degenerate  into  the 
settled  gloom  of  moody  melancholy.  Relaxation  from  the 
severer  toils  of  life  is  as  necessary  to  human  existence,  as  light 
is  to  the  physical  universe ;  without  its  appropriate  indulgence, 


136 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


all  the  pleasant  things  which  impart  their  thousand  charms  to 
our  social  economy,  would  at  once  become  eclipsed  in  the  dark¬ 
ness  of  desolation  and  despair.  If  it  be  true  that  man  is  the  only 
animal  that  laughs,  is  it  not  fair  to  infer  that,  by  an  occasional 
indulgence  of  his  risible  faculty,  he  is  but  fulfilling  a  part  of 
his  destiny  \  Y ery  much  might  be  urged  in  favor  of  a  hearty 
laugh — it  is  not  only  highly  exhilarating,  but  also  very  infec¬ 
tious  ;  and  the  doctors  tell  us,  it  is  an  excellent  help  to  digestion 
and  health.  Bishop  Hall  remarks,  “  Recreation  is  intended  to 
the  mind,  as  whetting  is  to  the  scythe,  to  sharpen  the  edge  of 
it,  which  otherwise  would  grow  dull  and  blunt.  He,  therefore, 
that  spends  his  whole  time  in  recreation  is  ever  whetting,  never 
mowing ;  as  contrarily,  he  that  always  toils,  and  never  recre¬ 
ates,  is  ever  mowing,  never  whetting — laboring  much  to  little 
purpose ;  as  good  no  scythe,  as  no  edge.  I  would  so  inter¬ 
change,  that  I  neither  be  dull  with  work,  nor  idle  and  wanton 
with  recreation.” 

Every  nation,  civilized  and  savage,  has  its  dance^of  one  kind 
or  another ;  its  universality  proves  that  it  is  a  natural  recrea¬ 
tion.  It  is  an  excellent  muscular  exercise,  and  on  this  account 
highly  recommended  by  physicians.  It  has  the  advantage,  too, 
that  it  tends  to  promote  social  intercourse  between  the  sexes ; 
refine  and  soften  the  manners  of  the  one,  and  to  give  confi¬ 
dence  to  the  other.  Yet,  uniting  these  advantages,  dancing  by 
some  is  highly  condemned,  as  a  misapplication  of  time,  and  as 
calculated  to  divert  the  attention  from  objects  of  higher  im¬ 
portance.  True,  we  ought  not  to  let  any  pleasure  occupy  too 
much  of  our  time ;  but  that  youth  needs  some  amusements,  no 
person  of  age,  when  he  calls  to  remembrance  his  own  days  of 
joyance,  will  deny.  Still,  we  admit  that,  as  frequently  in¬ 
dulged  in,  by  our  modern  fashionable  society,  dancing  is  made 
the  occasion  of  inducing  laxity  in  both  morals  and  manners. 
This  is  its  bane.  Dancing  is  the  most  universal,  as  well  as  one 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


137 


of  the  most  ancient  of  all  pastimes.  During  the  earlier  ages, 
it  was  invested  with  the  sanctity  of  a  religious  rite — the  Leviti- 
cal  law  of  the  Jews  requiring  it  to  be  exhibited  at  the  celebra¬ 
tion  of  their  solemn  feasts;  the  Psalms  of  David  make  fre¬ 
quent  allusions  to  the  practice ;  and,  indeed,  in  the  temple  at 
Jerusalem,  a  stage  was  erected  for  these  exercises,  called  the 
choir — a  term  still  retained  in  our  churches,  and  now  appropri¬ 
ated  to  the  singers. 

The  Greeks  and  Pomans  adopted  dancing  at  their  festivals, 
after  their  ancestors,  and  the  practice  lias  continued  uninter¬ 
ruptedly  down  to  our  own  times.  The  Spartans  were  most 
studious  in  the  cultivation  of  the  celebrated  Pyrrhic  dance. 
The  most  celebrated  games  of  the  Greeks  were  the  Olympic, 
the  Pythian,  the  Xemean  and  the  Isthmian.  These  differed 
little  from  each  other ;  their  designations  indicating  the  places 
where  they  were  held.  These  games  were  celebrated  with  great 
pomp  and  magnificence.  The  most  distinguished  authors  of 
Greece  also  obtained  prizes  at  Olympia,  for  excelling  in  con¬ 
tests,  not  of  physical,  but  of  mental  power.  Even  the  red  men 
of  the  forest  have  their  various  dances,  devoted  to  the  seasons, 
hunting  and  war.  Xo  less  popular  was  the  well-known  Morris 
dance  of  Shakspeare’s  days ;  the  origin  of  which  is  ascribed 
to  the  Moors.  The  Morris  dance  was  not  absolutely  limited  to 
any  period  of  the  year,  though  it  seems  to  have  been  con¬ 
sidered  as  most  appropriate  to  Whitsuntide  and  May-day. 

Amusements  and  recreations  are  an  index  to  character,  not 
only  individual,  but  national ;  for  in  our  times  of  relaxation, 
we  are  most  apt  to  throw  off  life’s  disguises. 

“  Almost  everything  else  may  be  lost  to  a  nation’s  history, 
but  its  sports  and  pastimes ;  the  diversions  of  a  people  being 
commonly  interwoven  with  some  immutable  element  of  the 
general  feeling,  or  perpetuated  by  circumstances  of  climate  or 
locality — these  will  frequently  survive,  when  every  other 


138 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


national  peculiarity  lias  worn  itself  out,  and  fallen  into  obliv¬ 
ion.”  *  As  the  minds  of  children,  modified  by  the  forms  of 
society,  are  pretty  much  the  same  in  all  countries,  there  will 
be  found  but  little  variation  in  their  ordinary  pastimes — a 
remark  no  less  applicable  to  those  nations,  which,  from  their 
non-advancement  in  civilization,  may  be  said  to  have  still 
retained  their  childhood. 

Few,  if  any  of  our  popular  pastimes  and  sports,  maybe  said 
to  be  new ;  they  will  be  found  to  be  either  of  Pagan,  Jewish, 
Popish,  or  Christian  origin,  modified  often  by  the  genius  of  the 
times.  Some  bearing  the  impress  of  the  chivalric  age  of  the 
Crusades,  or  the  romantic  enthusiasm  of  the  mediaeval  times  ; 
and  others  retaining  the  characteristics  either  of  the  Puritan 
austerity  of  England’s  Commonwealth,  or  the  laxity  of  the 
age  that  followed. 

The  Jews,  according  to  the  Mosaic  law,  were  accustomed  to 
observe,  in  addition  to  their  weekly  Sabbaths,  thirty  holy  days. 
They  had  other  festivals  also,  not  enjoined  by  their  law,  such 
as  those  of  Purim  and  the  Dedication,  the  last  named  continu¬ 
ing  eight  days. 

We  do  not  intend  to  dilate  at  length  upon  these,  but  simply 
to  take  a  glance  at  the  more  prominent  diversions  and  frolics 
with  which  society  in  former  times  beguiled  itself  of  its  sor¬ 
rows,  and  the  severer  duties  of  life.  We’ refrain  from  tracing 
our  subject  back  to  its  earliest  origin — the  pastimes  of  a  rude 
age — because  they  would  naturally  be  expected  to  partake,  in 
no  small  degree,  of  the  manners  and  habits  of  which  the}7 
were  the  reflex.  We  may  infer  from  our  own  Indians,  that 
athletic  exercises  and  the  chase,  were  among  the  primitive  di¬ 
versions  of  mankind.  We  must  not,  however,  be  tempted  to 
inquire  too  curiously  concerning  these  primitive  pastimes,  if  we 
would  judge  them  by  the  refinement  and  taste  which  character- 


*  Horace  Smith. 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


139 


ize  our  modern  modes  of  diversion,  such  as  music,  the  fine  arts, 
the  drama,  and  literary  entertainments. 

Field  sports  still  exist,  under  certain  modifications,  as  they 
did  under  the  “  Mosaic  dispensation  :  ”  where  we  read  of  Nim¬ 
rod,  “  a  mighty  hunter,”  and  the  progenitor  of  his  class.  The 
chase  has  supplied  a  theme  for  some  of  the  classic  writers. 
Xenophon  repudiated  hunting,  as  well  as  Solon.  By  the  Bo- 
man  law,  game  was  never  deemed  an  exclusive  privilege,  ex¬ 
cept  when  extending  over  private  lands,  when  permission  was 
to  be  obtained  of  the  proprietor.  When  Borne  became  over¬ 
run  by  the  Goths  and  Vandals,  they  perverted  the  natural  rights 
to  a  royal  one ;  a  feature  still  retained  in  some  European  States  ; 
the  prescriptive  right  to  hunt  over  certain  grounds  being  vested 
in  the  sovereign,  or  those  to  whom  the  crown  may  delegate 
it. 

Edward  III.  wras  such  a  devotee  to  sports  of  this  kind  that 
even  during  his  hostile  engagements  with  France,  he  could  not 
refrain  from  their  indulgence.  While  in  the  French  dominions 
he  had  with  him,  according  to  Froissart,  sixty  couple  of  stag- 
hounds  and  as  many  hare-hounds,  every  day  amusing  himself 
at  intervals,  with  hunting  or  hawking.  He  is  said  to  have  kept 
a  princely  stud  of  horses  and  six  hundred  dogs  for  this  pur¬ 
pose. 

This  passion  extended  itself  during  the  middle  ages  to  the 
clergy  :  for  Chaucer  satirizes  the  monks,  for  their  predilection 
for  the  hunter’s  horn,  over  cloistered  seclusion ;  and  even 
in  later  times  in  England,  sporting  bishops  and  vicars  have 
not  been  wanting  to  provoke  the  just  indignation  of  society. 
Queen  Elizabeth  used  to  patronize  these  sports,  with  a  retinue 
of  her  courtly  dames  and  lordly  knights,  even  as  late  as  her 
seventy-seventh  year, — at  which  time  it  is  recorded,  “  that  her 
majesty* was  excellently  disposed  to  hunting,  for  every  second 


140 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


clay  she  was  to  be  seen  on  horseback,  continuing  the  sport  for  a 
long  time.” 

Falconry  appears  to  have  been  carried  to  great  perfection, 
and  to  have  been  extensively  pursued,  in  the  different  countries 
of  Europe,  about  the  twelfth  century,  when  it  was  the  favorite 
amusement,  not  only  of  kings  and  nobles,  but  of  ladies  of  dis¬ 
tinction,  and  the  clergy,  who  attached  themselves  to  it  no  less 
zealously  than  they  had  done  to  hunting,  although  it  was  equally 
included  in  the  prohibitory  canons  of  the  church.  Ko  person 
of  rank  was  represented  without  the  hawk  upon  his  hand,  as  an 
indisputable  criterion  of  station  and  dignity:  the  bird  of  prey 
(no  inappropriate  emblem  of  nobility  in  the  feudal  ages)  was 
never  suffered  to  be  long  absent  from  the  wrist.  In  travelling, 
visiting,  or  the  transaction  of  affairs  of  business,  the  hawk  still 
remained  perched  upon  the  hand,  which  it  stamped  with  dis¬ 
tinction. 

The  grand  falconer,  in  full  costume,  with  his  falcon  perched 
upon  his  wrist,  was  a  most  picturesque-looking  individual:  and 
his  attendants,  bearing  the  perches  for  the  hooded  birds,  made 
up  a  busy,  animated  and  excited  group.  But  the  sport  of  hawk¬ 
ing,  like  that  of  archery,  gave  way  to  other  pursuits ;  and  the 
fowling-piece  superseded  the  hooded  hawk  which,  since  the  days 
of  Alfred,  had  been  held  in  such  high  esteem  by  the  gentle- 
born  and  chivalrous  spirits  of  Old  England. 

Edward  the  Confessor,  it  is  believed,  wrote  a  book  on  the  pas¬ 
time  which  is  still  extant.  In  the  East,  the  Persians  are  skil¬ 
ful  in  training  falcons, — birds  of  prey,  a  superior  kind  of  hawk, 
— to  hunt  all  manner  of  birds,  and  even  gazelles  :  and  in  civi¬ 
lized  Europe  generally,  a  knowledge  of  the  management  of 
hawks  was  deemed  a  mark  of  polite  education,  and  a  hawk  on 
the  hand  marked  social  position.  Hawking  had  its  technology, 
also,  like  heraldry.  The  office  of  grand  falconer  of  England 
is  still  an  hereditary  service  of  the  crown.  The  “  King’s  Mews,” 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


141 


at  Charing,  derives  its  name  from  the  building  in  which  the 
King’s  hawks  were  kept,  while  they  mewed  or  moulted. 

With  respect  to  archery,  it  is  sufficient  to  remark  that  the 
bow  was  the  most  ancient  and  common  of  all  weapons  ;  Isli- 
mael,  the  wanderer,  was  an  archer — so  were  the  heroes  of 
Homer,  and  the  warriors  of  most  nations.  During  the  Hept¬ 
archy,  Off  rid,  son  of  Edwin,  King  of  Northumberland,  was 
slain  by  an  arrow ;  other  historic  celebrities  might  be  mentioned 
who  shared  a  similar  fate.  The  Saxons  claim  the  introduc¬ 
tion  of  both  the  long  and  cross-bow  into  Britain ;  their  succes¬ 
sors,  the  Danes,  were  also  great  archers. 

The  well-known  story  of  Alfred  the  Great  in  the  peasant’s 
cottage,  suffering  her  cakes  to  burn,  was  owing  to  his  being  en¬ 
gaged  in  preparing  his  bow  and  arrows.  Of  the  great  power 
and  precision  with  which  arrows  may  be  discharged,  we  have 
sufficient  evidence,  without  that  afforded  by  the  apocryphal 
exploits  of  Robin  Hood,  or  William  Tell.  Our  Indians  may 
be  cited  as  specimens  of  the  wonderful  exactness  of  aim,  of 
which  the  instrument  is  susceptible. 

William  Rufus,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  indebted  to  one 
of  these  swift-winged  messengers  of  death,  for  his  dismission 
from  the  field  of  strife  :  and  the  famous  battles  of  Cressy  and 
of  Agin  court  bore  testimony  to  their  fatal  use.  The  practice 
of  archery  possesses  undoubted  advantages,  in  point  of  health 
and  exercise,  over  most  of  the  athletic  diversions,  or  field  sports, 
without  their  objectionable  features.  Archery  is  attended  with 
no  cruelty :  it  sheds  no  innocent  blood,  nor  does  it  torture 
harmless  animals ;  charges  which  lie  heavy  against  some 
other  amusements. 

4 

The  practice  of  baiting  animals,  so  naturally  revolting  to  our 
modern  taste,  seems,  in  former  times,  to  have  been  invested  with 
something  of  the  chivalrous  and  romantic.  These  cruel  enter¬ 
tainments,  Julius  Csesar  introduced  among  the  Romans  ;  from 


142 


SPORTS  AXD  PASTIMES. 


them  it  was  adopted  by  the  Spaniards,  the  Portuguese,  and  the 
English.  The  Spaniards  have  been  the  most  conspicuous  for 
their  refined  cruelties,  in  connection  with  this  brutal  sport; 
they  have  also  invested  its  ceremonies  with  the  greatest  splendor 
and  pageantry. 

In  the  Greek  bull-fights,  the  devoted  animals  were  turned 
out  with  an  equal  number  of  horsemen,  each  combatant  select¬ 
ing  his  victim.  From  the  following  account  of  a  bull-fiodit  in 
the.  Coliseum  at  Pome,  1332,  from  Muratori,  some  idea  may  be 
formed  of  the  ceremonies  and  dangers  attending  those  extra¬ 
ordinary  exhibitions : 

“  A  general  proclamation,  as  far  as  Bimini  and  Bavenna,  in¬ 
vited  the  nobles  to  exercise  their  skill  and  courage  in  this  peri¬ 
lous  adventure.  The  Boman  ladies  were  marshalled  in  three 
squadrons,  and  seated  in  three  balconies,  which  were  lined  with 
scarlet  cloth.  The  lots  of  the  champions  were  drawn  by  an 
old  and  respectable  citizen,  and  they  descended  into  the  arena 
to  encounter  the  wild  animals  on  foot,  with  a  single  spear. 
Amid  the  crowd  were  the  names,  colors,  and  devices  of  twenty 
of  the  most  conspicuous  knights  of  Borne.  The  combats  of 
the  amphitheatre  were  dangerous  and  bloody.  Every  cham¬ 
pion  successively  encountered  a  wild  bull,  and  the  victory  may 
be  ascribed  to  the  quadrupeds,  since  no  more  than  eleven  were 
left  on  the  field  with  the  loss  of  nine  wounded,  and  eighteen 
killed  on  the  side  of  their  adversaries.  Some  of  the  noblest 
families  might  mourn,  but  the  pomp  of  the  funerals  in  the 
churches  of  St.  John  Lateran,  and  St.  Maria  Maggiore,  afforded 
a  second  holiday  to  the  people,  which  was,  of  course,  a  thing  of 
superior  moment.  Doubtless  it  was  not  in  such  conflicts  that 
the  blood  of  the  Bomans  should  have  been  shed ;  yet  in  blam¬ 
ing  their  rashness,  we  are  compelled  to  applaud  their  gallantry,” 
continues  our  author,  “  and  the  noble  volunteers,  who  display 
their  munificence  and  risk  their  lives  under  the  balconies  of  the 


SPORTS  AXD  PASTIMES. 


143 


fair,  excite  a  more  generous  sympathy  than  the  thousands  of 
captives  and  malefactors,  who  were  reluctantly  dragged  to  the 
scene  of  slaughter.” 

The  ceremonies  in  Spain,  commence  by  a  kind  of  procession 
in  which  the  combatants,  on  horse  and  on  foot,  appear,  after 
which  two  alguazils,  dressed  in  perukes  and  black  robes,  ad¬ 
vance,  with  great  affected  gravity,  on  horseback,  and  ask  the 
president  for  the  signal  for  the  commencement  of  the  entertain¬ 
ment.  As  the  bull  rushes  in,  he  is  received  with  loud  shouts 
which  rend  the  air,  and  tend  to  excite  to  frenzy  the  infuriated 
beast ;  when  the  picadores  or  equestrian  combatants,  dressed  in 
a  quaint  old  Castilian  costume,  and  armed  with  a  long  lance, 
wait  to  meet  and  repel  their  antagonist.  These  encounters  re¬ 
quire,  of  course,  extraordinary  courage  and  dexterity ;  and  for¬ 
merly  they  were  regarded  as  marks  of  honorable  ambition  and 
distinction,  having  sometimes  been  enlisted  in  by  those  of  noble 
blood.  Even  at  the  present  time  hidalgos  are  said  to  solicit  the 
honor  of  fighting  the  bull  on  horseback,  and  they  are  then  pre¬ 
viously  presented  to  the  audience  under  the  auspices  of  a  patron 
connected  with  the  court.  Should  the  animal  become  terror- 
struck,  and  seek  to  avoid  his  persecutors,  if  nothing  else  can 
awaken  his  courage  and  fury,  the  cry  P err  os  !  perros  !  brings 
forth  new  enemies,  and  huge  dogs  are  let  loose  upon  him.  He 
then  tosses  the  dogs  into  the  air,  and  although  they  usually  fall 
down  stunned  and  mangled,  they  generally  renew  their  attack 
till  their  adversary  falls.  Sometimes  the  bull,  irritated  by  the 
pointed  steel,  gores  the  horse  and  overturns  his  rider,  who, 
when  dismounted  and  disarmed,  would  be  exposed  to  imminent 
danger,  did  not  attendant  combatants  divert  the  animal’s  atten¬ 
tion  by  holding  before  him  pieces  of  cloth  of  various  colors. 
This  act  is  attended,  however,  with  great  peril,  the  only  rescue 
being  by  jumping  over  the  barrier,  which  throws  the  spectators 


144 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


into  a  chaos  of  confusion  from  fear  of  the  rabid  animal’s  mak¬ 
ing  a  direct  descent  upon  themselves. 

It  is  to  be  admitted,  however,  that  the  sin  of  baiting  animals 
does  not  rest  alone  with  the  Spaniards  or  the  ancient  Romans, 
— although  the  gladiatorial  exploits  of  the  cruel  monsters,  Hero 
and  Commodus,  surpass  all  for  their  savage  brutality.  James 
I.,  amongst  other  sapient  performances,  perpetrated  a  “  Boke 
of  Sports,”  for  the  regulation  of  popular  pastimes  and  amuse¬ 
ments,  intimating  by  it  what  particular  kinds  of  recreation 
wrere  to  be  allowed  on  Sundavs  and  festivals  of  the  church — 

t/ 

such  as  running,  vaulting,  morris-dancing,  etc.,  and  prohibit¬ 
ing,  upon  those  days,  bowling,  bear  and  bull-baitings. 

Bishop  Burnet,  in  his  “  History  of  his  own  Times,”  speaking 
of  this  noted  monarch,  complains  that  his  court  fell  into  much 
extravagance  in  masquerading — “both  king  and  court  going 
about  masked,  going  into  houses  unknown,  and  dancing  there 
with  a  great  deal  of  wild  frolic.” 

As  early  as  the  ninth  century,  hunting  formed  an  item  of 
education,  and  was  patronized  by  the  nobility.  Alfred  the  Great 
was  an  expert  hunter  at  twelve  years  of  age  ;  and  Edward  the 
Confessor,  according  to  the  ancient  chronicles,  “  took  the  great¬ 
est  delight  to  follow  a  pack  of  swift  hounds  in  pursuit  of  game, 
and  to  cheer  them  on  with  his  voice.”  William  the  Norman, 
and  several  of  his  crowned  successors,  down  to  James  I.,  seem 
to  have  been  alike  addicted  to  the  pastime.  The  last-named 
individual  is  said  to  have  divided  his  time  equally  betwixt  his 
standish,  his  bottle  and  his  hunting ;  the  last  had  his  fair 
weather,  the  two  former  his  dull  and  cloudy. 

Contemplative  men  seem  to  have  been  fond  of  amusements 
accordant  with  their  pursuits  and  habits.  The  tranquil  recrea¬ 
tion  of  angling  has  won  a  preference  with  many,  over  more 
boisterous  pursuits,  from  the  fascinations  imparted  to  it,  by 
the  quaint  and  delightful  work  of  Izaak  Walton.  Sir  Henry 


SPORTS  AXD  PASTIMES. 


145 


Wotton  styles  angling,  “  Idle  time  not  idly  spent :  ”  to  a  medi¬ 
tative  mind,  possibly,  it  may  be  so,  but  we  think  many  a  de¬ 
votee  of  “  fly  fishing  ”  will  be  found  to  have  been  much  more 
lavish  in  his  expenditure  of  time  than  is  warranted  by  its  re¬ 
sults.  Paley,  it  may  be  remembered,  was  accustomed  to  in¬ 
dulge  in  this  pursuit :  he  had  a  portrait  painted  with  a  rod  and 
line  in  his  hand. 

Let  us  not  forget  that  this  art  of  angling  was  discoursed  of, 
in  one  of  the  earliest  books  printed  in  England  ;  and  what  is 
not  less  remarkable  is,  that  the  work  was  written  by  a  lady. 
She  was  Dame  Juliana  Berners,  Prioress  of  the  Nunnery  of 
Sopewell, — the  same  who  wrote  on  hawking ;  but  gives  prefer¬ 
ence  to  angling,  because,  she  says,  “  if  the  angler  take  fishe, 
surely,  tlienne,  is  there  no  man  merrier  than  he  in  hys  spyrit.” 

Angling  has  not  only  been  glorified  by  Izaak  W alton,  it  may 
also  claim  the  sanction  of  Holy  Writ, — some  of  the  Apostles 
having  been  of  the  craft. 

“  In  this  pleasant  and  harmless  Art  of  Angling ,  a  man  hath 
none  to  quarrel  with  but  himself,*'  says  Izaak  Walton,  “  and  he 
may  employ  his  thoughts  in  the  noblest  studies,  almost  as 
freely  as  in  his  closet.  The  minds  of  anglers  are  usually  more 
calm  and  composed  than  others  ;  and  suppose  he  take  nothing, 
yet  he  enjoyeth  a  delightful  walk,  by  pleasant  views,  in  sweet 
pastures,  among  odoriferous  flowers,  which  gratify  his  senses 
and  delight  his  mind ;  ”  and  he  adds,  “  I  know  no  sort  of  men 
less  subject  to  melancholy  than  the  anglers ;  many  have  cast 
off  other  recreations  and  embraced  it,  but  I  never  knew  an 
angler  wholly  cast  off  his  affection  to  his  beloved  recreation.” 

In  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  ladies  used  to  practise  angling, 
in  the  canal  of  St.  James’  Park,  London ;  according  to  Izaak 
Walton,  “their  tackle  was  very  beautiful  and  costly,  which 
they  were  fond  of  displaying.”  The  piscatory  art  being  still 
one  of  our  most  popular  of  pastimes,  it  is  needless  to  dilate 
10 


146 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


upon  its  fascinating  attractions.  Some  inveterate  anglers 
must,  however,  have  a  curious  history  to  give  of  their  experi¬ 
ence  ;  for  many  of  them  have  been  “  odd  fish  ”  themselves — 
flat  fish,  we  may  say,  in  some  instances,  since  they  will  sit  on  a 
damp,  muddy  bank  the  live-long  day,  contented  if  they  are  hut 
regaled  with  even  the  symptoms  of  a  “  nibble.” 

We  pass  now  to  notice  briefly  the  well-known  and  popular 
sport — horse-racing,  and  its  kindred  associations.  It  has  been 
conjectured  that  these  amusements  of  the  turf  were  in  vogue 
with  the  Saxons,  from  the  fact  that  Hugh,  the  founder  of  the 
House  of  the  Capets  of  France,  among  other  royal  gifts,  “pre¬ 
sented  several  running  horses ,  with  their  saddles  and  bridles,” 
etc.  The  sedate  J ohn  Locke  writes  as  follows : 

“  The  sports  of  England,  which  perhaps  a  curious  stranger 
would  be  glad  to  see,  are  horse-racing,  hawking  and  hunting, 
bowling ;  at  Marebone  and  Putney,  he  may  see  several  persons 
of  quality  bowling  two  or  three  times  a  week  all  the  summer  ; 
wrestling  in  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields,  every  evening  all  summer ; 
bear  and  bull-baiting,  and  sometimes  prizes  at  the  Bear-Garden  ; 
shooting  in  the  long  bow,  and  stob-ball  in  Tothill  Fields ; 
cudgel-playing  at  several  places  in  the  country ;  and  hurling 
in  Cornwall.” 

Of  wrestling  and  pugilistic  games  we  forbear  to  speak; 
modern  gymnastics  and  calisthenics  are  a  meet  substitute  for 
the  former,  since  they  include  all  their  advantages,  in  the  de¬ 
velopment  of  physical  strength,  without  any  of  their  objection¬ 
able  features.  As  a  winter  sport,  skating  naturally  suggests 
itself — a  diversion  mentioned  by  a  monkish  writer  as  far  back 
as  1170.  A  fast  skater,  on  good  ice,  will  nearly  equal  the  race¬ 
horse  for  a  short  distance.  The  London  belles  may  be  seen 
thus  sportively  employed  on  a  fine  winter’s  day  on  the  Serpen¬ 
tine,  Hyde  Park,  and  hundreds  more  on  the  lakes  of  our 
“  Central  ”  and  “  Prospect  ”  Parks,  and  elsewhere.  Like  buffalo 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


147 


hunting — the  most  exciting,  because  hazardous  of  all  sports — 
however,  skating  is  attended  with  the  occasional  risk  of  a  fall 
on  the  ice,  and  sometimes  under  it,  affording  the  courageous 
skater  the  benefit  of  a  cold  bath,  with  the  chance  of  an  entailed 
rheumatism,  if  not,  indeed,  loss  of  life  itself.  From  the  sug¬ 
gestion  of  a  ducking  under  the  ice,  one  is  naturally  reminded 
of  swimming  or  voluntary  bathing,  than  which  few  expedients 
are  more  conducive  to  health  and  longevity.  The  world 
is  now  awake  to  this,  and  even  the  faculty  are  found  frank 
enough  to  confess  the  fact,  and  to  recommend  frequent  ablu¬ 
tions. 

The  important  utility,  in  cases  of  accident,  of  being  able  to 
swim,  every  one  knows,  but  every  one  does  not  acquire  the  art 
notwithstanding ;  yet  it  is  easy  of  attainment,  and  also  adds 
much  to  the  pleasure  of  bathing.  Cramps,  crabs,  and  the 
chance  of  becoming  food  for  fishes,  are  among  the  doubtful 
attractions  of  old  Neptune, — healthfulness  and  vigor  to  the 
young,  and  rejuvenescence  to  the  aged,  as  well  as  a  delicious 
physical  enjoyment,  while  in  his  rough  embraces, — are  among 
the  positive  pleasures. 

Tennis  was  a  favorite  game  among  the  Romans :  it  is  less  in 
vogue  in  modern  times,  cricket  having  to  some  extent  usurped 
its  place.  All  classes  play  at  it  in  England.  Some  years  past 
there  was  a  strong  contest  between  eleven  Greenwich  pension¬ 
ers,  with  only  one  leg  a-piece,  against  an  equal  number 
of  their  brethren,  who  were  minus  an  arm,  but  the  one- 
legged  boys  won.  As  with  many  other  English  sports,  ladies 
sometimes  join  the  band  of  cricketers ;  some  time  ago 
there  was  a  match  played  between  an  equal  number  of 
married  and  unmarried  women ;  in  which  the  matrons  came 
off  victors. 

There  are  numerous  domestic  games  and  pastimes  which 
might  be  mentioned,  both  of  past  times  and  the  present ;  it 


148 


SPORTS  AXD  PASTIMES. 


may  suffice  simply  to  name  the  following — chess  and  cards. 
An  instance  of  chess  upon  a  large  scale  is  recorded  of  Don 
John  of  Austria,  who  had  a  room  in  his  palace  which  had  a 
pavement  of  checkered  white  and  black  marble ;  upon  this 
living  men,  in  varied  costumes,  moved  under  his  directions, 
according  to  the  laws  of  chess.*  It  is  also  related  of  a  Duke 
of  Weimar,  that  he  had  squares  of  black  and  white  marble  on 
which  he  played  at  chess  with  real  soldiers.  A  game  of  chess 
involves  sometimes  a  severe  test  of  temper;  it  is  said  the 
Swedish  maidens  used  formerly  to  try  the  mettle  of  their  hus¬ 
bands  elect  at  the  chess  table,  and  that  this  ordeal  decided 
their  fate  in  the  affair  of  matrimony.  According  to  Mr. 
Basterot,  a  late  French  authority,  this  game  was  invented 
during  the  sixth  century  by  an  Indian  Brahmin,  called  Sisla, 
who  presented  his  invention  to  the  reigning  monarch,  Sirham, 
requesting  as  a  reward,  one  grain  of  wheat  for  the  first  square, 
two  grains  for  the  second,  and  four  for  the  third,  and  so  on, 
in  geometrical  progression,  up  to  the  sixty-fourth ;  to  reach 
the  amount  of  this  humble  request,  the  author  informs  us, 
would  require  the  entire  wheat  crop>  of  France  during  one 
hundred  and  forty  years.  Of  billiards,  dice,  and  other  games 
usually  associated  with  the  practice  of  gambling,  as  well  as 
of  theatricals  in  general,  it  is  not  necessary  to  speak,  they  being 
already  familiar  to  the  reader. 

Billiards,  chess,  whist,  faro,  croquet,  draughts  and  other  like 
games  are  too  well  known  to  require  farther  mention.  D’Israeli 
has  an  amusing  chapter  devoted  to  the  amusements  of  the 
learned,  from  which  we  shall  cite  a  few  facts :  Among  the 
Jesuits  it  was  a  standing  rule  of  order,  that  after  an  application 
to  study  of  two  hours,  the  mind  should  be  bent  by  some  relaxa¬ 
tion,  however  trifling.  When  Petavius  was  engaged  upon  his 
“  Dogmata  Theologica,”  a  work  of  the  most  profound  erudition, 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


149 


the  choice  recreation  of  the  learned  father  was,  at. the  end  of 
every  second  hour,  to  twirl  his  chair  for  five  minutes.  Tycho 
Eralie  amused  himself  with  polishing  glasses  for  spectacles  and 
making  mathematical  instruments.  Descartes  beguiled  him¬ 
self  of  his  literary  labors,  like  John  Evelyn,  Pope,  Cowper,  and 
many  others,  in  the  culture  of  flowers. 

All  nations  have  proved  the  fallacy  of  seeking  to  impose 
restraints  against  the  necessary  recreations  of  life ;  the  stern 
necessities  of  our  mental  and  physical  constitution,  have  long 
since  determined  the  fact  with  the  authority  of  law. 

“  It  were  unjust  and  ungrateful  to  conceive  that  the  amuse¬ 
ments  of  life  are  altogether  forbidden  by  its  beneficent  Author. 
They  are  ‘  the  wells  of  the  desert ; 5  the  kind  resting-place  in 
which  toil  may  relax,  in  which  the  weary  spirit  may  recover  its 
tone,  and  where  the  desponding  mind  may  reassume  its  strength 
and  its  hopes. 

“Even  in  the  scenes  of  relaxation,  therefore,  they  have  a 
tendency  to  preserve  the  dignity  of  human  character,  and  to 
fill  up  the  vacant  and  unguarded  hours  of  life  with  occupa¬ 
tions,  innocent,  at  least,  if  not  virtuous.  But  their  principal 
effect,  perhaps,  is  upon  the  social  character  of  man.  When, 
men  assemble,  accordingly,  for  the  purpose  of  general  happi¬ 
ness  or  joy,  they  exhibit  to  the  thoughtful  eye  one  of  the  most 
pleasing  appearances  of  their  original  character.  They  leave 
behind  them,  for  a  time,  the  faults  of  their  station  and  the 
asperities  of  their  temper ;  they  forget  the  secret  views  and  the 
selfish  purposes  of  their  ordinary  life,  and  mingle  with  the 
crowd  around  them  with  no  other  view  than  to  receive  and 
communicate  happiness.  It  is  not,  therefore,  the  use  of  the 
innocent  amusements  of  life  which  is  dangerous,  but  the  abuse 
of  them ;  it  is  not  when  they  are  occasionally,  but  when  they 
are  constantly  pursued  ;  when  the  love  of  amusement  degene- 


150 


SPORTS  AND  PASTIMES. 


rates  into  a  passion ;  and  when,  from  being  an  occasional  in¬ 
dulgence,  it  becomes  a  habitual  desire.”  * 

Thus  the  serious  side  of  life  is  qualified  by  its  mirthful. 
“  The  most  grave  and  studious,”  said  Plutarch ,  “  use  feasts 
and  jests  and  toys,  as  we  do  sauce  to  our  meats.” 

*  Alison. 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


- “Mightiest  of  the  mighty  means, 

On  which  the  arm  of  Progress  leans — 

Man’s  noblest  mission  to  advance, 

His  woes  assuage,  his  weal  enhance, 

His  rights  enforce,  his  wrongs  redress — 

Mightiest  of  the  mighty  is  the  Press  /” — Bowring. 

The  invention  of  tlie  “  art  preservative  of  arts  ” — Printing, 
like  the  faculty  of  speech,  seems  to  have  come  to  us  “  like  a 
divine  revelation  in  the  history  of  man  !  ”  We  ask — 

“  Whence  did  the  wondrous  mystic  art  arise, 

Of  painting  speech,  and  speaking  to  the  eyes  ?  ” 

Yet  no  oracle  is  responsive  to  the  inquiry  ;  and  all  we 
know  is,  that  the  Decalogue  was  written  upon  stone  tablets. 


152 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


and  that  picture-writing  or  hieroglyphs  were  in  use  among  the 
earliest  races  of  mankind.  This  fact  is  abundantly  indicated 
by  the  inscriptions  and  sculptured  stones  which  everywhere 
abound  amid  the  ruins,  recently  exhumed,  of  Babylon,  Phoeni¬ 
cia,  Chaldea,  Egypt,  Arabia,  and  India.  Much  learned  discus¬ 
sion  has  been  devoted  to  the  subject  of  alphabetical  writing, 
also  ;  there  can  be  little  doubt,  however,  of  its  being  of  Divine 
origin. 

Seven  cities  of  classic  Greece,  it  will  be  remembered,  con¬ 
tended  for  the  honor  of  being  the  birth-place  of  Homer  ;  and 
the  contest  for  the  honor  of  giving  birth  to  a  discovery,  the 
greatest  in  the  history  of  the  arts  of  life,  is  also  stoutly  con¬ 
tended  for,  by  three  of  the  cities  of  Continental  Europe — 
Haarlem,  Mentz,  and  Frankfort.  These  rival  cities  stand  like 
armed  champions,  challenging  each  for  the  prize.  Haarlem 
has  erected  a  statue  to  Koster ;  Mentz  has  thus  immortalized 
Guttenberg ;  while  Frankfort  has  a  magnificent  monument 
erected  to  the  memory  of  the  three  claimants  jointly — Gutten¬ 
berg,  Faust  and  Schaeffer.  It  seems  that  these  three  were  as¬ 
sociated  together  in  the  earliest  inception  and  development  of 

• 

the  art  of  Printing  ;  Faust,  or  Fust,  had  no  share  in  the  inven¬ 
tion  of  the  art,  he  only  advanced  f  unds  to  enable  Guttenberg  to 
establish  the  printing  business  at  Mentz :  this  was,  it  is  be¬ 
lieved,  in  1450.  Two  years  later  they  had  a  disagreement,  and  a 
lawsuit  ensued  ;  and  Guttenberg  then  took  into  partnership  his 
son-in-law,  Schaeffer,  who  had  been  in  their  employment,  and 
who  had  perfected  the  process  of  making  movable  metallic 
type  by  the  invention  of  the  punch.  For  several  years  they 
kept  the  printing  process  a  secret,  and  produced  many  works, 
among  which  was  the  first  printed  edition  of  a  classic  author — 
the  De  Officiis — of  Cicero — a  copy  of  which  is  in  the  Astor 
Library.  In  1462,  Mentz  was  sacked,  and  Faust’s  establish- 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


153 


ment  was  broken  up.  His  workmen  were  scattered,  and  bis 
secret  was  divulged  by  them  in  other  countries. 

In  the  old  library  at  Strasburg  is,  or  was  before  the  late  war, 
this  literary  relic — a  small  folio-volume,  comprising  the  depo¬ 
sitions  in  the  famous  lawsuit  between  Faust  and  Guttenberg, 
written,  it  is  said,  by  a  contemporary  hand. 

According  to  recent  researches  it  appears  that  Haarlem  is 
entitled  to  the  preeminence  first  claimed  for  it  by  Ulric  Tell, 
an  eminent  printer  of  Cologne,  who  is  quoted  in  the  Cologne 
Chronicle  of  1499.  He  ascribes  the  first  discovery  of  the  art 
to  Lawrence  Janssen,  or  Koster,  warden  of  the  Cathedral 
Church  at  Haarlem,  who,  one  day  walking  in  the  woods, 
amused  himself  by  cutting  letters  in  the  bark  of  a  tree,  and 
taking  impressions  from  them  for  his  children  ;  and  thus  his 
idea  of  printing  was  first  suggested.  He  pursued  the  idea, 
invented  a  thicker  ink,  and  soon  produced  bloch-boohs.  The 
same  authority  supposes  Faust  and  Guttenberg  were  first  en¬ 
gaged  as  assistants  to  Koster.  Of  the  truth  of  the  story  of 
Faust’s  robbery  of  Koster’s  printing-office  we  shall  leave  our 
readers  to  decide.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  use  of  cut 
metal  types  was  achieved  at  Mentz,  where  the  art  received  its 
chief  improvements,  and  mainly  by  Guttenberg,  Faust,  and 
Schaeffer.  They  concealed  their  new  improvements  by  ad¬ 
ministering  an  oath  of  secrecy  to  all  their  servants  and  work¬ 
men,  till  the  sacking  of  the  city  of  Mentz.  The  prevailing 
opinion  of  critics  then  upon  the  disputed  claims  of  these  con¬ 
testants  seems  to  be,  that  to  the  German  triumvirate  belongs 
the  honor  of  having  been  the  first  to  employ  movable  metallic 
types,  matrices,  and  punches,  in  printing ;  and  if  so,  they  are 
entitled  to  wear  their  proud  laurels. 

To  the  invaluable  invention  of  the  Press  are  books,  indeed, 
indebted  for  their  limitless  multiplication ;  and  among  the 
many  immunities  of  our  advanced  civilization  the  least  is  not 


154 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


the  Printing-press.  It  is  fitting  that  the  advent  of  the  “  divine 
art  ”  should  be  first  sanctified  by  religion.  The  first  book 
ever  printed  with  metal  types  was  the  Bible,  in  Latin,  consist¬ 
ing  of  1,282  pages  folio.  Though  a  first  attempt,  it  is  beauti¬ 
fully  printed  on  very  fine  paper,  and  with  superior  ink.  At 
least  eighteen  copies  of'  this  famous  edition  are  known  to  be  in 
existence  in  the  several  great  libraries  of  Europe,  at  the  pres¬ 
ent  time.  It  is  known  as  the  Mazarine  Bible;  from  having 
been  first  found  in  the  library  of  Cardinal  Mazarine. 

A  copy  cost  the  purchaser,  Mr.  Lenox,  of.  New  York,  some 
years  since,  $2,500,  but  it  would  bring  nearly  double  that  sum 
now.  The  number  of  Bibles  printed  between  1450  and  1500 
was  much  larger  than  is  generally  supposed ;  and  among  them 
were  several  in  German.  The  Pentateuch,  and  the  history  of 
Job,  are  the  most  ancient  books  in  the  world ;  and  in  profane 
literature,  the  works  of  Homer,  ILesiod,  and  Herodotus. 

To  form  an  approximate  estimate  of  the  value  of  the  Print¬ 
ing-press,  we  have  only  to  contrast  our  own  times  with  those 
which  preceded  its  discovery.  The  dawn  of  printing  was  like 
the  outburst  of  a  new  revelation ;  and,  like  the  dawn  of  light, 
it  led  to  the  discovery  of  other  great  facts  and  results  which 
otherwise  might  have  never  blessed  the  world.  The  era  of 
printing  introduced  the  general  revival  of  learning,  and  the 
Reformation  in  Germany. 

We  should  tell  nothing  new  to  the  reader  at  all  conversant 
with  the  pleasant  and  curious  antiquities  of  bibliography,  were 
we  to  refer  to  the  early  materials  and  fabric  of  books — the 
Egyptian  papyrus  plant,  or  the  Herculaneum  manuscripts  ;  *  or 
the  waxen  tablets  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  written  with  the 
stylus ,  which  has  afforded  to  our  vernacular  its  two  widely 

*The  Greek  MSS.  in  Herculaneum  consist  of  papyrus,  rolled,  charred, 
and  matted  together  by  the  fire,  and  are  about  nine  inches  long,  and  one, 
two,  or  three  inches  in  diameter,  each  being  a  volume  or  separate  treatise. 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


155 


different  terms — style  and  stiletto;  or  of  the  metals  which 
were  sometimes  used  for  inscribing ;  or  of  the  skins  first  pre¬ 
pared  at  Pergamus,  (parchment,)  which  the  Romans,  in  their 
luxurious  days,  used  to  manufacture  in  yellow  and  purple,  to 
receive  the  characters  in  liquid  gold  and  silver — a  mode  con¬ 
tinued  by  the  monks  in  later  days,  and  of  which  specimens 
yet  exist. 

The  Bark  of  Trees  has  been  much  used  for  writing  upon  in 
every  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  still  serves  for  this  purpose  in 
some  parts  of  Asia.  In  the  Sloanian  library,  London,  there 
are  several  specimens ;  one  of  writing  on  bark,  folded  up  in 
leaves  so  as  to  represent  a  book ;  there  is  also  a  Nabob’s  letter 
on  a  piece  of  bark  two  yards  long,  richly  ornamented  in 
gold. 

Leaves  have  also  been  used  for  writing  upon  in  most  nations. 
Pliny  speaks  particularly  of  the  Egyptians  writing  at  first  upon 
leaves.  The  “sybils’  leaves”  referred  to  by  Yirgil,  prove  that 
the  use  of  leaves  for  writing  upon  was  familiar  to  the  Ro¬ 
mans.  Diodorus  Siculus  relates  that  the  judges  of  Syracuse 
were  accustomed  to  write  the  names  of  those  whom  they  sent 
into  banishment  upon  the  leaves  of  olive  trees.  The  practice 
of  writing  upon  the  leaves  of  palm-trees  is  still  prevalent  in 
some  parts  of  the  East.  Specimens  are  to  be  seen  in  the  Brit¬ 
ish  Museum. 

In  the  time  of  Alexander  the  Great,  the  practice  of  writing 
on  Papyrus  was  found '  so  convenient  that  Ptolemy  Phila- 
delphus  caused  his  books  to  be  transcribed  on  the  plant. 

A  book  has  been  curiously  defined,  “  brain  preserved  in  ink,” 
and  when  there  is  plenty  of  the  fruit,  it  is  a  conserve  to  tempt 
the  most  capricious  palate.  From  the  fact  that  books  were 
written  on  the  bark  of  trees,  came  the  Latin  word  liber,  from 
which  we  derive  our  English  term  “  library.”  “  Book  ”  is  from 
the  Saxon,  u  boeP  a  beech-tree. 

7  / 


156 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


Hesiod’s  works  were  first  written  on  tables  of  lead — Solon’s 
laws  on  wooden  planks.  The  wood  was  sometimes  covered 
with  wax,  so  that  the  writing  could  be  easily  effaced.  The 
Chinese  manufacture  paper  of  linen,  the  fibres  of  the  young 
bamboo — of  the  mulberry,  the  envelope  of  the  silk-worm — 
of  a  native  tree  called  cliu  or  ko-chu — but  especially  of  cotton. 
They  were  in  possession  of  the  art  long  before  it  was  known  in 
Europe  ;  and,  as  Mecca  was  a  sort  of  depot  for  the  fabrics  of 
China,  it  is  by  some  very  reasonably  supposed,  that  the  paper 
was  first  brought  from  that  country.  Whatever  might  have 
been  its  origin,  the  art  was  undoubtedly  employed  and  im¬ 
proved  by  the  Arabs,  who,  in  their  career  of  conquest,  carried 
it  into  Spain,  about  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  century. 
Other  accounts  ascribe  the  invention  of  cotton  paper  to 
Greece ;  indeed,  not  only  its  origin,  but  the  various  improve¬ 
ments  in  its  manufacture,  and  the  different  substitutions  of  new 
materials  have  long  been  the  subject  of  controversy. 

Cotton  and  silk  paper  were  in  use  at  an  early  period,  but 
linen  rags  were  not  used  till  a.d.  1200.  This  invention  has 
been  placed  earlier  by  some  good  authorities,  but  it  would 
appear  that  they  have  confounded  the  cotton  with  the  linen 
paper.  The  first  paper-mill  in  England  was  built  by  a  Ger¬ 
man,  in  1588,  at  Dartford,  in  Kent.  Nevertheless,  it  was  not 
until  1713,  that  Thomas  Watkins,  a  stationer,  brought  paper¬ 
making  to  anything  like  perfection. 

Between  the  years  1407  and  1475,  printing-offices  were  opened 
at  Cologne,  Augsburg,  Nuremberg,  and  Lubec.  Monks,  called 
“  Brothers  of  Common  Life,”  founded  printing  establishments 
at  Brussels  and  Louvain,  in  Belgium.  In  the  year  1467,  a 
press  was  transported  to  Borne ;  some  years  afterwards,  to 
Venice,  Milan,  and  Naples.  The  printing  art  reached  Paris 
in  1469.  It  met  with  obstacles  on  the  part  of  copyists,  who 


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feared  to  lose  their  means  of  subsistence  ;  but  the  king,  Louis 
XI.,  protected  the  printers. 

The  art  was  conveyed,  from  Haarlem  to  England  in  1468,  and 
by  Bourchier,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  This  prelate  sent  a 
merchant  named  William  Caxton,  to  learn  the  art.  Caxton  pre¬ 
vailed  with  Corseilles  to  go  over  to  Oxford,  and  there  set  up 
a  press.  Before  Caxton  left  the  continent,  he  translated  from 
the  French,  and  in  the  year  1471  published  at  Cologne,  the 
first  hook  ever  printed  in  the  English  language  •  entitled,  The 
Becuyell  of  the  Hystoryes  of  Troye.  “An  imperfect  copy  of 
this  work,”  says  Duppa,  “  was  put  up  to  sale  in  1812,  when  there 
was  a  competition  amongst  men  eminent  for  learning,  rank,  and 
fortune  ;  and,  according  to  their  estimation  of  its  value,  it  was 
sold  for  the  sum  of  £1,060  10s.”  In  the  year  1474  (having  in 
the  meantime  returned  to  England),  he  published  the  first  hook 
ever  printed  in  England.  It  was  entitled,  “  The  Game  and 
Playe  of  the  Chesse:  Translated  out  of  the  Frenche,  and  em- 
prynted  by  me  William  Caxton.  Fynysshid  the  last  day  of 
Marche,  the  yer  of  our  Lord  God  a  thousand  four  hondred, 
lxxiiij.” 

Caxton,  who  died  at  the  age  of  81,  in  1491,  and  who,  in  ad¬ 
dition  to  having  had  the  honor  of  introducing  into  England  the 
“  divine  art,”  was  an  eminent  instance  of  the  successful  culti¬ 
vation  of  letters,  combined  with  mechanical  pursuits.  Amidst 
the  onerous  charge  of  an  extensive  printing  office  in  one  of  the 
chapels  of  Westminster  Abbey,  containing  twenty-four  presses, 
with  about  a  hundred  workmen,  this  indefatigable  man  actu¬ 
ally  gave  to  the  world,  no  fewer  than  five  thousand  closely 
printed  folio  pages  from  his  own  pen,  consisting  chiefly  of 
translations  from  the  French,  or  of  the  stock  of  his  own  vernacu¬ 
lar  literature.  About  sixty  of  his  books  still  exist.  His  just 
estimate  of  Chaucer,  whose  works  he  first  printed,  evinces  his 
uncommon  critical  acumen.  On  more  accounts  than  one,  there- 


158 


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fore,  may  Caxton  be  fitly  styled  the  father  of  the  English  press. 
The  well-known  names  of  Pynson,  who  died  1529  ;  Wynkyn  de 
Worde,  in  1534,  and  Wyer,  in  1542,  although  justly  celebrated 
for  the  improvements  they  effected  in  the  typographic  art, — the 
former  having  first  constructed  and  introduced  into  use  the  Ho¬ 
man  letters, — claim  a  passing  mention. 

Printing  hitherto  had  been  for  the  most  part  in  Latin  ;  but 
the  Italians  in  1480  began  to  print  with  Greek  and  Hebrew 
types,  and  they  were  the  first  to  use  these. 

In  the  sixteenth  century,  according  to  Dr.  Gregory,  there 
appeared  various  editions  of  books  in  Syriac,  Arabic,  Persian, 
Armenian,  Coptic  or  Egyptian,  characters. 

Anthony  Koburger,  of  Nuremberg,  was  a  person  eminent 
for  his  learning  as  well  as  for  his  elegance  in  printing.  He 
was  styled  the  Prince  of  printers,  and  was  likewise  a  very  ex¬ 
tensive  bookseller.  Besides  a  spacious  warehouse  at  Lyons,  he 
had  agents  in  every  important  city  in  Christendom,  and  kept 
sixteen  open  shops,  with  a  vast  number  of  warehouses.  He 
printed  thirteen  editions  of  the  Bible  in  folio,  which  are  es¬ 
teemed  as  extremely  beautiful  specimens  of  the  art ;  but  his 
chef  $  oeuvre  was  the  German  Bible,  printed  in  1483,  folio,  the 
most  splendid  of  all  the  ancient  German  Bibles,  being  embel¬ 
lished  with  many  curious  wood- cuts. 

About  the  year  1547,  we  find  honorable  mention  made  of  the 
name  of  Robert  Copland,  formerly  engaged  in  Caxton’s  office ; 
he  was  a  stationer,  printer,  author,  and  translator.  The  “  Pose 
Garland,5’  in  Fleet  street,  was  his  well-known  residence.  An¬ 
thony  Scoloker  was  another,  who  translated  several  works  which 
he  printed,  one  of  which,  affording  no  unequivocal  proof,  how¬ 
ever,  of  his  prophetic  skill,  was  intituled,  “  A  Juste  Reck- 
enyage,  or  Accompte  of  the  Whole  Humber  of  the  Yeares, 
from  the  Beginnynge  of  the  Worlde  unto  the  present  Yeare  of 
1547 ;  a  Certayne  and  Sure  Declaracion  that  the  Worlde  is  at 


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159 


an  Ende.”  Robert  Stephens,  the  renowned  Parisian  printer  and 
scholar,  was  his  contemporary;  his  erudition  as  a  critic  and 
etymologist,  is  sufficiently  evinced  by  his  great  work,  “  Diction- 
arium  seu  Latinse  Linguae  Thesaurus.”  De  Thou,  the  historian, 
passed  the  following  merited  eulogium  upon  this  distinguished 
scholar:  “Rot  only  France,  but  the  whole  Christian  world, 
owes  more  to  him  than  to  the  greatest  warrior  that  ever  ex¬ 
tended  the  possessions  of  his  country ;  and  greater  glory  has 
redounded  to  Francis  I.  by  the  industry  alolie  of  Robert  Ste¬ 
phens,  than  from  all  the  illustrious,  warlike,  and  pacific  under¬ 
takings  in  which  he  was  engaged.”  We  next  come,  in  the  order 
of  time,  to  the  name  of  John  Day,  the  equally  prolific  printer 
and  parent — having  introduced  into  the  world  two  hundred  and 
forty-five  books,  and  twenty-seven  children !  He  lived  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Holborn  conduit. 

Richard  Grafton,  of  London,  was  distinguished  alike  for  his 
erudition,  as  well  as  being  an  eminent  printer.  He  was  a  lin¬ 
guist,  and  also  the  friend  of  Cranmer  and  Lord  Cromwell. 
Grafton  lived  in  the  house  of  the  Grey  Friars,  since  known  as 
Christ’s  Hospital. 

His  first  work  was  the  English  Bible,  printed  abroad  in 
1535. 

In  1545,  he  printed  King  Henry  YIII.’s  Primer,  both  in  La¬ 
tin  and  English,  with  red  and  black  ink,  for  which  he  had  a 
patent,  that  is  inserted  at  the  end. 

In  the  first  year  of  Edward  VI.,  Grafton  was  favored  with  a 
special  patent,  granted  to  him  for  the  sole  printing  of  all  the 
Statute  Books.  This  is  the  first  patent  that  is  noticed  by  that 
diligent  and  accurate  antiquarian,  Sir  William  Dugdale. 

An  eminent  printer  was  Christopher  Plan  tin,  of  Antwerp, 
who  lived  in  the  latter  part  of  the  sixteenth  century.  His 
offices  at  Antwerp,  Germany,  and  France  seem  to  have  been 
established  upon  the  most  magnificent  scale,  and,  like  one  of  his 


1G0 


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great  predecessors,  Stephens,  he  indulged  himself  in  the  luxury 
of  silver  types.  At  one  time,  he  is  reported  to  have  paid  to 
his  proof-readers  and  compositors,  no  less  than  one  hundred 
golden  crowns  per  diem ,  no  equivocal  evidence  of  the  extent  of 
his  operations.  He  also  retained,  not  only  in  his  friendship, 
but  in  his  employ,  a  host  of  the  literary  men  of  his  day,  among 
the  number  the  renowned  De  Thou.  His  chef -d'  oeuvre — which 
has  been  styled  the  eighth  wonder  of  the  world — was  his  Biblia 
Polyglottci ,  in  eight  folio  volumes. 

Then  we  have  the  no  less  illustrious  names  of  Raphelengius, 
the  celebrated  scholar,  and  printer  to  the  University  of  Ley¬ 
den;  and  Louis  Elzevir,  of  the  same  place,  (temp.  1595-1616,) 
the  founder  of  the  most  learned  family  of  printers  that  ever 
adorned  the  republic  of  letters.  Elzevir  is  said  to  have  been 
the  first  who  observed  the  distinction  between  the  use  of  the 
consonant  v ,  and  the  vowel  u,  (which  had  been  recommended 
by  Ramus  and  other  writers  long  before,  but  never  regarded,) 
as  also  the  vowel  i  from  the  consonant  j.  Their  name  is  well- 
known  to  scholars,  by  their  exquisite  series  of  minutely  printed 
classics,  comprising  about  one  hundred  volumes.  Aldus  Manu- 
tius,  with  whom  terminated  a  family  of  printers  scarcely  less 
distinguished  in  the  literary  history  of  their  times,  extending 
to  upwards  of  a  century,  was  grandson  to  the  celebrated  Aldus. 
His  extraordinary  precocity  was  displayed  by  the  successful 
publication,  of  a  production  from  his  own  pen,  in  his  eleventh 
year ;  and  his  great  work,  De  Vetemcm  Notarum  Explana- 
tione  has  not  only  immortalized  his  name,  but  has  been  long 
since  acknowledged  as  a  standard  for  reference,  by  the  learned. 
In  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  we  find  the  name  of  John  Ogilby, 
geographical  printer  to  the  Court,  and  noted  as  having  written 
some  books.  He  published  a  magnificent  Bible,  with  illustra¬ 
tions,  for  which  he  was  remunerated  by  the  British  Parliament. 
Towards  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century,  Palliot,  the  his- 


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161 


toriographer,  printer,  and  bookseller  to  the  King  of  France, 
was  also  highly  distinguished  as  a  genealogist.  As  a  proof  of 
his  untiring  perseverance  and  industry,  it  is  recorded  that  he 
left,  at  his  decease,  thirteen  volumes  of  manuscripts,  in  addi¬ 
tion  to  the  five  folios,  which  he  had  already  published,  the 
plates  of  which  were  likewise  executed  by  his  own  hands.  Con¬ 
temporary  with  him,  lived  Rothscholtz,  the  bookseller,  of  Nii- 
remberg,  whose  name  is  distinguished  in  the  world  of  letters  by 
his  great  work,  in  two  volumes  quarto,  entitled,  A  Short  Essay 
towards  an  Ancient  and  Modern  History  of  Booksellers. 

In  early  times,  bookselling  and  printing  were  not  only  often 
combined,  but,  in  some  instances,  it  appears,  authorship  also 
was  united  with  these  several  branches  of  handicraft. 

Numerous  instances  attest  the  fact,  that  an  affinity  subsists 
between  printing  and  knowledge,  and  that  printers  have  them¬ 
selves  contributed,  by  their  genius,  to  adorn  the  annals  of  their 
age.  Bayle  speaks  of  one  who  composed  and  printed  a  work 
simultaneously,  setting  up  the  types  with  his  hands,  as  fast  as 
his  brain  concocted  his  sentences,  without  the  intervention  of 
manuscript  corrections. 

Lackington,  the  well-known  bookseller,  remarks,  “  Among  all 
the  schools  where  a  knowledge  of  mankind  may  be  acquired,  I 
know  of  none  equal  to  that  of  a  bookseller’s  shop,  where,  if 
any  one  have  any  taste  for  literature,  he  may  be  said  to  feed 
his  mind,  as  cooks’  and  butchers’  wives  get  fat  by  the  smell  of 
meat.” 

It  cannot  be  denied,  however,  that  there  are  numerous  ex¬ 
ceptions  to  this  supposed  rule ;  for  the  instances  of  eminent 
printers  and  booksellers  we  have  presented,  are  from  the  many 
whose  commerce  with  literature  seemed  to  have  awakened  little 
or  no  sympathy  with  its  pleasures,  its  pains,  or  its  pursuit. 

The  remark  is  not  less  applicable  to  our  own  times. 

In  the  olden  time,  prior  to  the  era  of  printing,  the  manu- 
11 


162 


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scripts  of  authors  were  obliged  to  be  subjected  to  the  ordeal  of 
critical  censorship,  previous  to  their  being  allowed  public  per¬ 
usal;  their  works  being  required  to  be  read  over  before  the 
Universities,  for  three  successive  days,  or  by  appointed  judges; 
when,  if  approved,  copies  were  allowed  to  be  executed  by  the 
monks,  scribes,  and  illuminators. 

Even  in  the  classical  days  of  Greece  and  Home,  we  find  a 
trade  carried  on  in  books  ;  those  works  most  in  demand  beinor 
multiplied  by  the  scribes  and  copyists.  An  exclusive  traffic  in 
the  manuscripts  of  those  days  seems  to  have  been  carried  on 
along  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  the  Greek  colonies 
of  the  Euxine. 

During  the  middle  ages,  the  booksellers  were  styled  Statio- 
narii  at  the  Universities  of  Paris  and  Bologna ;  they  used  to 
sell  and  loan  manuscripts.  This  was  the  commencement  of  the 
bookselling  business.  A  species  of  literary  censorship,  it  ap¬ 
pears,  was  first  established  at  Paris,  in  1342,  when  a  license 
from  the  University  was  requisite  previously  to  engaging  in 
such  business.  The  booksellers  were,  in  fact,  regularly  matri¬ 
culated  by  entry  on  its  roll,  and  considered  as  its  officers  ;  the 
prices  of  all  books  were  also  fixed  according  to  a  tariff  of  four 
sworn  booksellers,  by  the  institution ;  a  fine  was  imposed  for 
selling  an  imperfect  copy  of  a  work,  and  a  catalogue,  with  the 
prices  annexed,  was  further  required  to  be  always  kept  in  the 
shops.  This  censorship  was  afterwards  invested  in  the  person 
of  Berthold,  Archbishop  of  Mentz,  in  1486,  and  again  renewed 
with  greater  vigor,  with  respect  to  books,  by  the  Council  of 
Trent,  in  1546,  being  subsequently  enforced  by  the  Popes, 
down  to  1563,  by  whom  several  Indices  Librorum  Prohibi- 
torum  were  issued.  In  France  the  censorship  was  vested  in 
the  Chancellor;  in  England  it  was  exercised  by  the  well-known 
Star-Chamber ;  and  after  the  abolition  of  that  court,  by  Parlia¬ 
ment  itself ;  it  was  abolished  in  England  about  1694,  although 


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163 


it  still  continues  in  force,  we  believe,  in  several  of  the  Conti¬ 
nental  States. 

The  first  bookseller,  so  called,  on  record,  was  Faustus.  He 
is  said  to  have  carried  liis  books  for  sale,  to  the  monasteries  in 
France  and  elsewhere  ;  and  the  first  bookseller  who  purchased 
manuscripts  for  publication,  without  possessing  a  press  of  his 
own,  was  John  Otto,  of  Nuremberg. 

Among  eminent  bibliopoles,  the  next  name  we  find  in  the 
order  of  date  is  that  of  John  Dunton,  who  lived  from  1659- 
1733.  Of  his  literary  performances,  his  Life  and  Errors  is 
the  best  known.  His  critical  acumen,  or  good  fortune,  were 
certainly  not  much  at  fault ;  for  it  is  recorded,  that  of  the  600 
works  which  he  published,  only  seven  proved  unsuccessful. 

Chiswell,  styled  for  pre-eminence  the  metropolitan  bookseller 
of  England,  and  whose  shrewdness  and  wit  stood  the  test  so 
admirably,  that  he  is  reported  never  to  have  issued  a  bad  book, 
was  also,  at  about  the  same  period,  an  author  of  some  consider¬ 
ation.  Contemporary  with  him,  we  find  the  name  of  the 
learned  linguist  and  bibliopolist  Samuel  Smith,  the  appointed 
bookseller  to  the  Royal  Society.  Thomas  Guy, — the  founder 
of  “  Guy’s  Hospital  ” — (whose  munificence  and  philanthropy 
have  immortalized  his  name,  and  often  invoked  the  blessing  of 
suffering  humanity,)  was  originally,  it  will  be  remembered,  a 
bookseller. 

John  Bagford,  an  industrious  antiquarian  bookseller,  who 
lived  to  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  was  the  au¬ 
thor  of  the  Collectanea ,  bearing  his  name,  contained  in  the 
Harleian  MSS.  of  the  British  Museum. 

The  Tonsons  were  a  race  of  booksellers  who  did  honor  to 
their  profession  for  integrity,  and  by  their  encouragement  of 
learning.  Malone  published  several  letters  from  Dry  den  to 
Tonson,  and  Tonson  to  Dryden.  Tonson  displays  the  trades¬ 
man,  however,  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  the  Translations 


164: 


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of  Ovid,  which  he  had  received,  with  which  he  was  pleased, 
but  not  with  the  price,  having  only  one  thousand  four  hundred 
and  forty-six  lines  for  fifty  guineas.  Most  of  the  other  letters 
relate  to  Dry  den’s  translations  of  Virgil ;  and  contain  re¬ 
peated  acknowledgments  of  Tonson’s  kind  attentions.  “I 
thank  you  heartily,”  he  says,  “  for  the  sherry  ;  it  is  the  best  of 
the  kind  I  ever  drank.”  The  current  coin  was  at  that  period 
wretchedly  debased.  In  one  letter  Dry  den  says,  “  I  expect 
forty  pounds  in  good  silver,  not  such  as  I  had  formerly.  I  am 
not  obliged  to  take  gold,  neither  will  I,  nor  stay  for  it  above 
four  and  twenty  hours  after  it  is  due.”  In  1698,  wdien  Dry  den 
published  his  Fables,  Tonson  agreed  to  give  him  two  hundred 
and  sixty-eight  pounds  for  ten  thousand  verses ;  and  to  com¬ 
plete  the  full  number  of  lines  stipulated,  he  gave  the  bookseller 
the  Epistle  to  his  Cousin,  and  the  celebrated  Ode. 

Lintot,  Pope’s  publisher,  was  also  an  author ;  not  to  speak 
of  Miller,  Evans,  Griersson,  Motte,  and  Ruddiman,  the  last- 
named  a  man  of  profound  attainments  as  a  grammarian  and 
critic.  The  name  of  Richardson,  author  of  “  Sir  Charles 
Grandison,”  and  other  popular  works,  which  have  procured  for 
him  the  title  of  the  English  Rousseau,  is  well  known.  Alex¬ 
ander  Cruden,  the  compiler  of  the  “  Concordance  to  the  Sacred 
Scriptures,”  whose  stupendous  labors  turned  him  mad,  was  an¬ 
other  of  our  category. 

John  Buckley,  who  lived  to  about  1746,  was  a  learned  lin¬ 
guist  ;  and  Paterson,  his  contemporary,  was  also  author  of 
many  works,  as  well  as  a  book-auctioneer ;  he  was  indeed  one 
of  the  most  prominent  bibliopoles  of  his  age. 

About  the  same  date,  we  meet  with  the  name  of  Harris,  the 
author  of  Lexicon  Technician.  Dr.  Rees’  Cyclopaedia, ,  which 
extended  to  forty  volumes,  quarto,  was  styled  “  the  pride  of 
booksellers,  and  the  honor  of  the  English  nation.”  His  remains 
were  interred  within  the  cloisters  of  Westminster  Abbey. 


BOOK  CKAFT. 


165 


Hutton,  of  Birmingham,  who  has  been  not  inaptly  styled  the 
English  Franklin,  from  the  very  depths  of  obscurity  and 
poverty  fought  his  way  single-handed  to  wealth  and  literary 
eminence.  His  “  History  of  Birmingham  ”  was  followed  by 
other  productions,  including  his  interesting  autobiography. 
His  literary  labors  were  concluded  in  1811.  In  his  last  book, 
he  says  :  “  I  drove  the  quill  thirty  years,  during  which  time  I 
wrote  and  published  fourteen  books.” 

We  might  refer  to  the  names  of  Bushton,  of  Liverpool, 
M’Creery,  Debrett,  Allan  *Bamsay  the  poet,  Hansard,  Bulmer, 
Boydell,  Griffiths,  Harrison,  and  many  others  we  stay  not  to 
enumerate.  Worrall,  of  Bell  Yard,  who  died  1771,  was  a 
well-known  author-bookseller,  as  well  as  the  eccentric  Andrew 
Brice,  of  Exeter,  and  Sir  James  Hodges,  who  lived  at  the  sign 
of  the  Looking-Glass,  on  London  Bridge.  The  names  should 
not  be  omitted  of  Faulkner,  Gent,  Goadby,  and  also  Smellie, 
the  first  edition  of  whose  work  on  philosophy  yielded  him 
one  thousand  guineas,  and  a  revenue  of  fame.  Thomas  Os¬ 
borne,  of  Gray’s  Inn,  was  also  a  very  eminent  bookseller, 
although,  if  we  are  to  decide  with  Dr.  Dibdin,  not  eminent  in 
philological  attainments.  Boswell  relates  an  amusing  circum- 
stance  connected  with  the  professional  career  of  this  worthy 
bibliopole,  who,  it  is  said,  was  inclined  to  assume  an  authorita¬ 
tive  air  in  his  business  intercourse.  One  day,  Johnson  happen¬ 
ing  to  encounter  a  similar  exhibition  of  temper,  the  Doctor 
became  so  exasperated,  that  he  actually  knocked  Osborne  down 
in  his  shop  with  a  folio,  and  put  his  foot  upon  his  neck ;  and 
when  remonstrated  with  on  such  summary  proceeding,  he 
coolly  replied,  “  Sir,  he  was  impertinent  to  me,  and  I  beat 
him.” 

Paternoster  Bow,  the  great  literary  emporium  of  the  world, 
did  not  assume  any  importance  till  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne, 
when  the  booksellers  began  to  forsake  their  former  principal 


1G6 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


mart,  Little  Britain,*  which  had  become  the  resort  of  all  the 
bibliopoles  about  the  time  of  the  renowned  John  Day,  termi¬ 
nating  with  the  equally  celebrated  Ballard.  In  earlier  times 
Paternoster  Bow  seems  to  have  been  more  noted  for  mercers, 
lacemen,  and  haberdashers,  for  a  newspaper  periodical  of  1707, 
adds  to  the  list,  “the  sempstresses  of  Paternoster  Bow.”  We 
find,  however,  the  record  of  a  solitary  member  of  the  craft, 
one  Denham,  who  lived  then  and  there,  at  the  sign  of  the 
Star,  as  early  as  1564,  and  whose  significant  motto  ran  as  fol¬ 
lows  : 

“  Os  homini  sublime  dedit.” 

There  also  dwelt  turners  of  beads,  and  they  were  called  Pater¬ 
noster  makers,  from  which,  of  course,  this  noted  place  origin¬ 
ally  derived  its  name.  It  is  also  worthy  of  notice,  that  the 
parish  of  St.  Bride  has  been,  from  the  days  of  Pynson,  in  1500, 
down  to  the  days  of  Strahan,  the  location  of  the  “  King’s 
Printer ;  ”  while  the  number  of  those  carrying  on  the  profes¬ 
sion  in  this  vicinity  is  singularly  numerous,  and  far  beyond 
the  average  of  any  other  parish  in  England,  or  perhaps  the 
world ;  the  site  seems  to  have  become,  from  its  first  intro¬ 
duction,  the  Alma  Mater  of  the  printers.  Alex.  Ilogg  was 
moreover  reputed  a  man  of  considerable  learning.  lie  pub¬ 
lished  numerous  standard  works  in  the  serial  form,  and 
was  the  first  to  introduce  that  convenient,  and,  for  the  spread 
of  literature,  important  mode  of  publication.  He  seems 
to  have  exhausted  the  vocabularies  of  superlatives,  to  ex¬ 
press  the  beauty,  elegance,  and  magnificence  of  his  editions. 

*  Formerly  Breton  street,  from  the  mansion  of  the  Duke  of  Bretagne  on 
that  spot,  in  more  modern  times  became  the  “Paternoster  Row”  of  the 
bookseller;  and  a  newspaper  of  1064  states  them  to  have  published  here  with¬ 
in  four  years,  464  pamphlets.  Here  lived  Rawlinson  (“  Tom  Folio”  of  The 
Tatter,  No.  158),  who  stuffed  four  chambers  in  Gray’s  Inn  so  full,  that  his 
bed  was  removed  into  the  passage. 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


167 


He  also  was  reputed  to  possess  singular  tact  in  revivifying  a 
dull  book  by  rechristening  it,  and  otherwise  metamorphosing 
its  contents,  when,  its  sale,  under  its  original  condition,  had 
ceased  ;  hence  he  has  been  called,  the  “  prince  of  puffers.” 

Among  our  notices  of  eminent  bibliopolists  we  must  not 
omit  the  name  of  Andrew  Millar,  or  the  laconic  missives  that 
passed  between  him  and  Dr.  Johnson — although  the  incident 
may  be  already  familiar  to  the  reader. 

The  great  lexicographer  having  wearied  the  expectation  of 
the  trade  for  his  long-promised  work,  and  no  less  the  patience 
of  his  publisher,  who  had  already  advanced  him,  in  various 
sums,  the  amount  of  £1,500,  he  was  induced,  on  receipt  of  the 
concluding  sheet  of  his  Dictionary,  to  send  to  the  doctor  the 
following :  “  A.  Millar  sends  his  compliments  to  Mr.  Samuel 
Johnson,  with  money  for  the  last  sheet  of  copy  of  Dictionary, 
and  thanks  God  he  has  done  with  him.”  To  which  our  author 
replied,  “  Samuel  Johnson  returns  compliments  to  Mr.  Andrew 
Millar,  and  is  very  glad  to  find  (as  he  does  by  his  note),  that 
Mr.  A.  M.  has  the  grace  to  thank  God  for  anything.” 

Honorable  mention  also  should  be  made  of  a  name  which 
has  never,  perhaps,  been  eclipsed  in  the  annals  of  book  craft. 
Me  refer  to  that  of  hTicholls,  whose  “  Literary  Anecdotes,”  as 
well  as  his  numerous  other  works,  will  link  his  memory  to 
many  a  distant  year,  and  whose  otherwise  immense  industry 
and  labors,  as  printer,  compiler,  and  publisher,  would  scarce 
require  the  aid  of  “  Sylvanus  LAban  ”  to  immortalize  his 
name.  The  mantle  of  the  sire  has  descended  upon  the  son, 
who  has  published  several  historical  works,  and  among  others, 
an  “  Account  of  the  Guildhall,  London,”  historical  notices  of 
“  Fonthill  Abbev etc.  Sothebv,  the  celebrated  book- 
auctioneer  of  London,  whose  establishment,  originally  founded 
in  17JJ,  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  its  class  in  London.  He 
was  a  man  of  extensive  learning  and  literary  acquirements, 


168 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


and  had  been  many  years  occupied  in  collecting  materials  for 
an  elaborate  work  on  the  “  Early  History  of  Printing.” 

Davy,  of  Devonshire,  once  a  bookseller  of  eminence,  was 
afterwards  distinguished  for  his  attainments  in  biblical  litera¬ 
ture.  John  Gough,  of  Dublin,  bookseller,  was  also  author  of 
“  A  Tour  in  Ireland,”  “  History  of  Quakers,”  and  other  works. 
William  Elarrod  was  a  worthy,  but  eccentric  bookseller,  whose 
pen  produced  several  topographical  works.  Samuel  Bosseau, 
who,  when  an  apprentice  to  Nicholls,  used  to  collect  old  epitaphs, 
it  is  said  actually  taught  himself  in  the  intervals  of  business, 
Latin,  Greek,  Hebrew,  Syriac,  Persian,  and  Arabic,  as  well  as 
two  or  three  of  the  modern  languages.  Besides  this,  he  edited, 
in  after  life,  several  useful  and  popular  works  on  elementary 
education.  To  name  Dodsley,  would  prove  almost  his  suffi¬ 
cient  eulogy ;  his  valuable  series  of  “Annual  Begisters,”  and 
collected  edition  of  “  Old  Plays,”  being  literary  performances 
sufficient  to  form  a  monument  to  his  memory.  Nicholson,  of 
Worcester,  is  another  member  of  the  bookselling  fraternity, 
who  has  added  to  the  stores  of  literature.  Constable,  the  cele¬ 
brated  publisher  of  Edinburgh,  whose  literary  taste  and  great 
bibliographical  knowledge,  independently  of  his  having  been 
the  originator  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  sufficiently  entitles 
him  to  notice.  Ballantyne,  the  publisher  and  confidant  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  who  was  the  sprightly  author  of  the  “Widow’s 
Lodgings,”  and  other  works  in  the  department  of  elegant  lite¬ 
rature,  in  addition  to  his  vast  fund  of  anecdote,  is  equally  enti¬ 
tled  to  distinction ;  as  well  as  Blackwood,  for  many  years  the 
editor  of  the  inimitable  periodical  that  still  retains  his  name. 
James  Lackington — the  well-known  London  bookseller — may 
be  said  to  have  established  his  claim  to  our  notice  from  the 
publication  of  his  “  Autobiography.”  From  the  shades  of  ob¬ 
scurity,  he  was  indebted  to  tliriftiness  and  parsimony,  no  less 
than  to  his  untiring  zeal  and  exertions,  for  his  ultimate  distinc- 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


169 


tion.  If  we  may  not*  assign  to  his  character  any  literary 
eminence,  and  we  do  not,  his  career,  at  least,  was  marked  by 
singular  eccentricity ;  his  spacious  establishment  in  Finsbury 
Square,  around  which  it  is  said  that  he  actually  drove  a  coach- 
and-four,  contained  an  immense  collection  of  books.  Among 
his  many  expedients  to  excite  notoriety,  was  the  publication  of 
an  advertisement,  stating  that  his  coach-house  in  Old  street  had 
been  robbed  of  10,000  volumes,  consisting  chiefly  of  Dr.  Watts’ 
“  Psalms  and  Hymns,”  a  manoeuvre  that  answered  the  two- 
fold  purpose  of  letting  the  world  know  that  he  kept  a  coach, 
and  that  even  so  large  a  quantity  of  books  could  scarce  be 
missed  from  his  collection.  lie  also  had  the  vanity  to  hoist  a 
flag  at  the  top  of  his  house  as  a  signal,  whenever  he  arrived 
from  his  country  seat  at  Merton. 

His  vanity  was-  certainly  very  amusing,  and  excusable  when 
we  consider  the  disadvantages  of  His  humble  origin.  At  ten 
years  old  he  commenced  crying  apple-pies  in  the  streets,  so 
that,  as  he  himself  intimates,  he  soon  began  to  make  a  noise  in 
the  world.  His  success  in  this,  his  first  essay,  induced  speedily 
the  exchange  of  tarts  for  books ;  thus  he  commenced  his  busi¬ 
ness  as  a  bookseller,  which  one  year  yielded  him  a  profit  of 
£5,000.  Here  we  might  mention  the  name  of  John  Trusler, 
who  was  distinguished  as  a  doctor,  parson,  printer,  and  author ; 
having  fabricated  many  useful  books,  and  amongst  others,  an 
“  Essay  on  the  Eights  of  Literary  Property  ” — a  subject,  even 
at  the  present  day,  we  regret  to  find,  so  very  imperfectly  un¬ 
derstood  among  the  mass  of  those  to  whose  enjoyment  it  is 
made  to  yield  so  large  a  contribution.  Davies,  in  1817,  com¬ 
piled  and  published  several  amusing  bibliographic  works,  one 
entitled,  An  Olio  of  Bibliographical  and  Literary  Anecdote, 
and  A  Life  of  Garrick ,  which  went  through  several  editions. 
Pichard  Beatniffe,  bookseller,  of  Norwich,  wrote  a  Tour 
through  Norfolk ,  and  other  works.  Parkhurst  (Johnson’s 


170 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


friend)  was  of  distinguished  repute,  and  occupied  many  years 
in  preparing  a  Talmudic  Lexicon !  Upham,  of  Exeter,  also 
translated  sacred  books  of  the  Buddhists.  Dr.  William  Eus- 
sell,  who  died  at  the  close  of  the  last  century,  the  well-known 
author  of  the  History  of  Modern  Europe,  was  originally  ap¬ 
prenticed  to  a  bookseller ;  a  few  years  after  which,  he  was 
engaged  as  a  corrector  of  the  press,  and  subsequently  was 
enabled  to  devote  himself  to  authorship.  His  historical  works 
were  the  product  of  his  maturer  years.  Whiston,  the  transla¬ 
tor  of  Josephus,  was  also  in  his  early  days  a  bookseller.  The 
same  might  be  remarked  of  the  renowned  naturalist,  Smellie, 
equally  celebrated  as  having  produced  the  best  edition  of 
Terence.  lie  was,  moreover,  the  antagonist  of  Hume,  the 
refutation  of  whose  atheistical  opinions  became  the  theme  of 
his  pen.  Walwyn  was  a  bard-bookseller  of  eminence,  “  a  worthy 
associate  of  Dryden.”  Watton,  who  kept  a  shop  near  St.  Dun- 
stan’s  many  years,  published  and  compiled  several  excellent 
works — among  them  the  earliest  history  we  possess  of  Baronets, 
occupying  five  octavo  volumes.  Olinthus  Gregory  also  was 
once  a  bookseller,  at  Cambridge,  and  a  teacher  of  mathematics 
at  the  same  time,  as  well  as  an  author. 

John  Lander,  brother  of  the  African  traveller,  was  originally 
a  bookseller.  Devoting  his  leisure  to  literary  pursuits,  and  his 
mind  being  inspired  with  a  love  of  enterprise,  he  not  only  ren¬ 
dered  important  services  to  physical  science,  by  the  discovery 
of  a  problem  which  had  long  baffled  the  literati  of  Europe,  and 
which  has  placed  his  name  among  the  proudest  in  the  annals 
of  science,  but  he  bequeathed  to  the  world  one  of  the  most 
interesting  narratives  of  travel  in  the  English  lari£mao;e.  Sir 
Bichard  Phillips,  of  whose  elementary  writings  it  is  enough 
commendation  to  remark,  that  they  were  sufficiently  productive 
to  become  the  adequate  support  of  his  declining  years,  was  not 
only  the  first  publisher  to  introduce  a  reduction  in  the  price  of 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


171 


books,  but  the  originator  of  a  fund  for  oppressed  debtors — 
both  things  speak  well  for  him.  In  the  same  category  was 
Booth,  of  London,  whose  knowledge  of  books,  critical,  not 
titulary,  rendered  him  eminently  distinguished ;  his  collection 
was  exceedingly  rare  and  extensive.  His  literary  capabilities 
were  so  far  respected  by  Malone,  the  commentator  of  Shak- 
speare,  that  he  consigned  to  him  the  onerous  task  of  editing 
and  arranging  the  annotations  and  remarks  for  his  edition  of 
the  great  dramatist.  He  also  edited  and  compiled  several  doc¬ 
uments  for  his  Account  of  the  Battle  of  Waterloo ,  two 
volumes  quarto,  which  passed  through  nine  editions  in  less 
than  two  years. 

The  race  of  author-booksellers,  far  from  being  extinct,  is 
yet  flourishing  at  the  present  day  ;  not  a  few  of  those  who  are 
emulous  of  the  classic  honors  of  their  sires,  add  a  new  lustre 
to  the  bibliographic  history  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Wil¬ 
liam  Longman  has  distinguished  himself  in  the  science  of  en¬ 
tomology,  a  subject  that  has  already  successfully  engaged  his 
pen.  Wood,  the  natural  history  bookseller,  is  undoubtedly 
deserving  a  place  among  the  scientific  writers  of  the  day, 
which  his  esteemed  work,  Zoograjihy ,  or  the  Beauties  of 
Nature  Displayed ,  in  three  large  volumes,  sufficiently  attests. 

Moxon,  in  early  life,  published  Christmas ,  a  poem,  and  a 
volume  of  Sonnets ,  which  were  so  favorably  noticed  by  Rogers, 
the  poet,  that  a  friendship  ensued,  which  since  ripened  with  its 
growth,  and  contributed  very  materially  to  the  success  of  this 
enterprising  and  accomplished  publisher  for  the  poets.  To  the 
classical  reader  we  need  only  mention  the  name  of  Y alpy, 
whose  edition  of  the  Variorum  Classics  extended  to  161 
vols.,  8 vo.,  to  prove  his  cultivated  taste  and  liberality  of  enter¬ 
prise.  M’Cray  has  translated  and  published  some  beautiful 
Lyrics  from  the  Herman ;  William  Clarke,  originally  a  book¬ 
seller,  gave  to  the  antiquary  an  exceedingly  curious  and 


172 


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interesting  account  of  libraries,  under  the  name  of  Reper- 
torium  R ibliographicum  •  and  Podd  was  the  translator 
of  several  volumes  from  the  Spanish.  One  of  the  best 
bibliographers  was  Evans,  the  auctioneer  and  bookseller  of 
Pall-Mall ;  Dolby,  bookseller,  gave  to  the  public  a  work  of 
ingenuity  and  labor,  The  Shalcspearian  Dictionary  •  and 
Christie,  the  auctioneer,  has  also  produced  four  abstruse  works, 
on  the  taste  and  literature  of  the  ancient  Greeks,  which  he 
compiled  during  the  intervals  of  his  business  occupation  ; 
Griffith,  the  bookseller,  compiled  a  catalogue  of  ancient  and 
modern  poetry,  entitled  Bibliograjjhia  Anglo-Poetica  ;  and 
Dr.  Roller  and  Mr.  Bach  were  both  translators  and  German 
critics,  as  well  as  booksellers.  Another  conspicuous  member 
of  the  class  was  Cochrane,  who  was  for  some  time  an  eminent 
bookseller,  and  the  able  and  discriminating  editor  of  the 
Foreign  Quarterly  Review ,  for  seven  years.  He  was  also 
selected  by  the  trustees  to  draw  up  the  catalogue  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott’s  choice  and  valuable  library  at  Abbotsford — a  most 
delightful  labor  of  love  ;  and  on  the  formation  of  the  London 
Library,  was,  among  a  host  of  competitors,  unanimously  elected 
to  the  offices  of  librarian  and  secretary. 

We  might  also  mention  Stewart,  the  eminent  linguist,  and 
known  as  the  skilful  compiler  of  the  celebrated  catalogue  of 
Miss  Currer’s  library,  which  he  embellished  by  drawings  from 
his  own  pencil. 

If  any  one  is  sceptical  enough,  after  what  has  been  adduced 
to  the  contrary,  to  assert  that  the  book-selling  and  printing- 
business  has  been  wanting  in  literary  distinction,  we  pity  his 
want  of  candor,  while  we  further  refer  him  to  such  names  as 
the  following :  Arrowsmith,  the  celebrated  map-publisher,  and 
author  of  Ancient  and  Modern  Geography ,  as  well  as  several 
elementary  works  in  geography,  some  of  which,  with  the 
former,  were  used  as  text-books  at  Oxford,  Cambridge,  and 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


173 


Eton ;  Atkinson,  of  Glasgow,  possessed,  perhaps,  as  great  an 
acquaintance  with  Medical  Bibliography  as  any  person  of  his 
times,  as  his  curious  and  unique  work  on  that  subject  proves. 
One  of  the  leading  medical  journals  of  Europe  characterized  it 
as  “  one  of  the  most  remarkable  hooks  ever  seen — uniting  the 
German  research  of  a  Ploquet  with  the  ravings  of  a  Babelais, 
the  humor  of  Sterne  with  the  satire  of  Democritus,  the  learning 
of  Burton  with  the  wit  of  Pindar.”  It  is  to  be  regretted 
the  ingenious  author  did  not  live  to  complete  the  whole  de¬ 
sign. 

Ainsworth,  the  popular  historical  novelist,  was  originally  a 
bookseller.  Godwin,  author  of  Caleb  Williams ,  Si.  Leon , 
etc.,  was  once  a  bookseller ;  Podd,  who  kept  an  extensive 
establishment  for  the  sale  of  old  books,  translated  the  Span¬ 
ish  Ballads.  His  shop  was  the  resort  of  confirmed  biblio¬ 
maniacs. 

Xor  should  the  name  of  John  Murray — the  friend  and  pub¬ 
lisher  of  Byron,  be  omitted  in  this  place.  It  is  not  our  prov¬ 
ince  to  remark  on  the  distinguished  eminence  of  this  gentle¬ 
man  as  a  publisher,  although  in  this  respect  he  may  unques¬ 
tionably  be  entitled  to  take  the  highest  rank ;  but  his  well- 
known  literary  abilities,  and  critical  taste,  equally  render  him 
conspicuous,  as  evinced  in  the  immense  collection  of  valuable 
works  which  have  issued  from  his  establishment.  The  excel¬ 
lent  series  of  Hand-BooJcs ,  are  in  part,  productions  of  his  son, 
the  present  publisher  of  that  name. 

The  name  of  Talboys,  of  Oxford,  will  be  remembered  by 
his  admirable  translation  of  Adelung’s  Historical  Sketch  of 
Sanscrit  Literature ,  to  which  he  appended  copious  biblio¬ 
graphical  notices.  He  was,  moreover,  the  translator  of  the 
very  erudite  volumes  of  Professor  Heeren,  of  which  he  is  also 
the  publisher;  his  Bibliotheca  Classica  and  Tlieologica ,  like- 


174 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


wise  deserve  honorable  mention  for  their  completeness  and 
excellent  scientific  arrangement. 

Hansard,  the  printer,  who  wrote  Typographia ,  and  another 
similar  work,  and  who  has  been  also  a  contributor  to  the  En¬ 
cyclopedia  Britannica ,  also  was  of  the  fraternity ;  as  well  as 
West,  the  author  of  Fifty  Years’  Recollections  of  a  Book¬ 
seller ;  Goodhugh,  author  of  the  Library  Manual ;  Haas,  who 
translated  Dr.  Krummacher’s  Elislia ,  and  Zschokke’s  History 
of  Switzerland. 

John  Bussell  Smith  has  rendered  himself  distinguished  by  his 
industry,  as  well  as  literary  taste.  His  work,  Bibliotheca  Can- 
tiana ,  as  well  as  his  Bibliographical  List  of  all  Works  illus¬ 
trating  the  Dialects  of  England ,  evince  both  his  untiring 
antiquarian  research  and  literary  zeal.  We  come  next  to  a  name 
that  has  become  almost  a  synonym  with  antiquarian  anecdote — 
William  Hone,  the  author  of  Every  Day  Book ,  and  Year 
Book.  He  was  originally  a  bookseller — his  collected  works 
would  probably  fill  ten  or  twelve  octavos.  His  political  satires 
had  a  prodigious  sale.  His  infidel  publications  he  lived  to  re¬ 
pudiate  and  publicly  to  recant,  in  a  work  entitled  his  Early 
Life  and  Conversion.  Henry  G.  Bohn  deserves  to  be  classed 
among  our  author-booksellers  ;  his  catalogue,  containing  a  criti¬ 
cal  description  of  300,000  volumes,  in  all  the  languages  dear  to 
literature,  may  be  ranked  among  the  most  laborious  productions 
of  the  press  of  any  nation.  The  Chambers  of  Edinburgh, 
editors  of  the  able  and  valuable  works  that  bear  their  name, 
present  another  noble  instance  of  genius  rising  superior  to 
all  opposing  circumstances.  They  were  originally  of  humble 
origin — now  they  are,  perhaps,  the  largest  publishers  of  the 
age.  Their  essays  are  among  the  choicest  of  our  periodical  lit¬ 
erature.  There  is  still  another  name  we  cannot,  in  justice, 
omit  to  notice :  we  allude  to  that  of  Timperley,  whose  Ency- 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


175 


clopcedia  of  Literary  Anecdote  discovers  curious  labor  and  re¬ 
search  :  and  to  which  we  acknowledge  our  indebtedness  for 
many  curious  facts. 

Charles  Knight,  the  well-known  editor  of  the  Pictorial 
Shakespeare ,  of  London  Illustrated ,  and  other  excellent  works ; 
Thomas  Miller,  once  the  basket-maker,  since  poet,  novelist, 
and  essayist ;  and  William  Howitt,  whose  voluminous  writings 
are  too  well  known  to  require  recital — form  a  triple  coronal  in 
bibliography ;  and  the  lustre  they  shed  upon  the  brotherhood 
of  booksellers  to  which  they  originally  belonged,  may  well 
atone  for  the  obliquities,  discrepancies,  and  obtuseness,  with 
which  the  tongue  of  scandal  has  sought  to  darken  the  fair 
escutcheon  of  its  fame. 

Here,  then,  we  ought  to  pause  in  our  enumeration  of  literary 
booksellers  and  printers ;  although  the  catalogue  might  be 
extended  to  a  much  greater  length.  There  are  three  other 
names,  however,  we  must  not  omit,  in  conclusion. 

In  earlier  times,  Francis  de  Bure,  a  bookseller  of  Paris, 
wrote,  among  others,  a  work  of  great  research  and  skill,  A 
Treatise  on  Scarce  and  Curious  Books ,  in  seven  large  vol¬ 
umes.  The  originator  of  the  great  work,  Encyclopedic  Metho- 
dique ,  which  has  extended  to  above  150  volumes,  was  M. 
Panckoucke,  a  Parisian  bookseller.  Peter  Vander,  of  Leyden, 
who  died  1730,  was  another  eminent  instance  of  an  author- 
bookseller,  as  his  singular  work,  Galerie  du  Monde ,  in  66 
folios,  sufficiently  attests ;  and  Lascaile,  of  Holland,  was 
poet  and  publisher ;  and  even  his  daughter  so  largely  inher¬ 
ited  her  father’s  genius,  that  she  was  styled  the  Dutch  Sappho, 
or  tenth  muse. 

The  renowned  publisher,  Tauchnitz,  of  Leipsic,  achieves  a 
great  work  for  the  diffusion  of  literature  over  continental 
Europe.  His  popular  series  of  British  Classics  alone  includes 


176 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


1,000  volumes.  His  publishing  establishment  is  now  the  largest 
on  the  continent  of  Europe. 

In  the  sixteenth  century,  Trithemius  died  in  Germany,  after 
having,  from  time  to  time,  assembled  the  literary  world  to 
behold  the  wonder  of  that  age — a  library  of  two  thousand 
volumes. 

The  first  book  ever  printed  in  the  New  World  was  in  the  city  . 
of  Mexico.  It  was  printed  in  the  Spanish  language,  in  the 
year  1544,  and  was  entitled  Doctrina  Christiana  per  eo  los 
Indes.  The  first  publications  made  in  English,  in  America, 
were  the  Freeman? s  Oath ,  an  Almanac  for  1639.  In  1640  was 
published  the  first  book,  entitled  the  Bay  Psalm  Book.  It  was 
reprinted  in  England,  where  it  passed  through  no  less  than 
eighteen  editions;  the  last  being  issued  in  1754.  It  was  no 
less  popular  in  Scotland,  twenty-two  editions  of  it  having  been 
published  there. 

We  might  mention,  among  the  craft,  and  with  no  slight 
honor,  the  name  of  John  Foster,  a  man  of  great  literary  attain¬ 
ments,  a  graduate  at  Harvard  University,  and  himself  an  au¬ 
thor.  At  a  later  date  Matthew  Carey,  and  his  son  and  succes¬ 
sor,  Henry  Carey,  both  of  whom  have  recorded  their  names  in 
the  literary  annals  of  their  country,  not  to  omit  the  name  of  an 
author-bookseller,  Peter  Parley  (Goodrich),  whose  works  are 
alike  appreciated  in  both  hemispheres. 

Isaiah  Thomas  has  written  and  published  a  History  of  Print¬ 
ing,  a  work  of  considerable  reputation  ;  Drake,  the  antiquarian 
bookseller  of  Boston,  besides  being  a  member  of  several  learned 
societies,  was  author  of  the  Book  of  the  Indians  and  History 
of  Boston. 

The  first  printing  press  set  up  in  America,  was  u  worked  ” 
at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  in  1639. 

The  Bev.  Jesse  Glover  procured  this  press,  by  “  contributions 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


177 


ft 
o  u 

y 

y  i, 
k/ 

of  friends  of  learning  and  religion,”  in  Amsterdam  and  in  Eng¬ 
land,  but  died  on  bis  passage  to  the  New  World. 

Stephen  Day  was  the  first  printer.  In  honor  of  his  pioneer 
services  Government  gave  him  a  grant  of  three  hundred  acres 
of  land.  Among  his  other  publications  were  the  New  Testa¬ 
ment  and  Baxter's  Call ,  translated  into  the  Indian  language, 
by  Elliot,  the  pioneer  Missionary,  and  printed  at  great  cost. 

The  title  might  be  recommended,  on  account  of  its  obscurity 
and  high-sounding  character,  to  some  of  our  transcendental 
writers.  It  was  Wushu-  Wuttesthementum  Yul-Lordumun 
Jesus  Christ  Nuj)j)oqkwussuaenenmunT 

The  whole  Bible  was  printed  in  this  language  in  1663.  The 
nation  once  speaking  it,  is  now  extinct. 

Pennsylvania  was  the  second  State  to  encourage  printing. 

William  Bradford  went  to  Pennsylvania,  with  William  Penn,  in  \ 

1682,  and  in  1686  established  a  printing-press  in  Philadelphia. 

In  1692,  Bradford  was  induced  to  establish  a  printing-press 
in  New  York.  He  received  £40  per  annum,  and  “the  privi¬ 
lege  of  printing  on  his  own  account.”  Previous  to  this  time 
there  had  been  no  printing  done  in  the  Province  of  New  York. 

Ilis  first  issue  in  New  York  was  a  proclamation,  bearing  date 
of  1692. 

Pope  satirized  some  of  his  publishers  and  defamed  others. 

*  One  long  word  suggests  another — the  title  of  a  pamphlet  (in  the  possession 
of  the  writer),  published  years  ago  in  London.  The  title  reads  :  “  Ghronon- 
iLotonthologos ,  the  most  tragical  tragedy  that  ever  was  tragedized  by  any  com¬ 
pany  of  tragedians.”  The  two  first  lines  of  this  effusion  read — 

“  AMeborontiphoscophosnio  ! 

Where  left  you  Chrononhotonthologos  ?  ” 

We  might  name  another  singular  title  of  a  work  published  in  1661,  by  Ro¬ 
bert  Lovell,  entitled,  ‘  ‘  Panzoologicominerdlogia  ;  a  complete  history  of  animals 
and  minerals,  contain^  the  summe  of  all  authors,  Galenical  and  Chymicall, 
with  the  anatomie  of  man,  &c.” 

12 


178 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


Johnson  knocked  one  down  with  a  folio.  In  more  lecent  times 
Campbell,  when  called  upon  for  a  toast  at  a  literary  dinner, 
gave  the  health  of  Napoleon  because  he  had  shot  a  bookseller. 
One  of  the  wittiest  stanzas  in  Coleridge’s  DeviVs  Walk  is  that 
in  which  the  Devil  claims  kin  with  a  publisher  : 

‘  ‘  For  I  myself  sat  like  a  cormorant  once 
Upon  the  tree  of  knowledge. ” 

x\nd  it  was  a  modern  author  who  made  the  parable  of  the 
Good  Samaritan  run,  “  A  certain  man  went  down  to  Paternos¬ 
ter  Pow,  and  fell  among  thieves.” 

Next  to  the  desire  to  know  something  about  the  personnel  of 
an  author,  is  the  interest  with  which  the  public  regard  that  in¬ 
termediate  personage  between  him  and  themselves,  yclept  the 
publisher.  In  a  subordinate  sense,  he  may  justly  be  considered 
a  member  of  the  literary  profession,  for  he  enacts  the  part  of 
agent  for  the  author  and  his  readers  ;  and  if  not  an  indispen¬ 
sable,  he  is  at  least  a  most  important  auxiliary  in  these  relations. 
Publishers  have,  however,  not  unfrequently  been  characterized 
as  selfish  in  their  pursuits,  and  alike  injurious  to  the  interest  of 
the  author,  and  the  commonwealth  of  literature.  This  asper¬ 
sion  upon  their  fair  fame  is  at  length  fast  passing  away,  if  in¬ 
deed  it  has  not  already  disappeared.  Their  position  in  society, 
as  the  purveyors  of  its  literary  aliment,  is  at  length  appreci¬ 
ated.  The  bookselling  fraternity  are  a  set  of  men,  whose 
movements  are  for  the  most  part  regulated  by  the  question  of 
profit  and  loss.  They  deal  in  books  very  much  as  do  the  pur¬ 
veyors  of  meat  and  bread, — estimating  their  mercantile  value 
by  the  size,  if  not  the  weight  avoirdupois.  The  history  of 
“  book  craft,”  which  yet  remains  to  be  written,  would  form  a 
book  of  “  Chronicles,”  if  less  important,  scarcely  less  interest¬ 
ing  than  those  of  Froissart;  it  would  abound  with  strange  an¬ 
omalies,  and  curious  portraitures.  In  early  times,  the  monks 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


179 


— the  custodes  of  the  learning  of  their  day — combined  within 
themselves  both  author  and  publisher ;  if  indeed  the  latter 
term  may  be  allowed  in  this  case.  They  were  styled  the  Com- 
mercium  librorum ,  their  office  comprehending  that  of  the 
scribe,  as  well  as  the  dealer  in  manuscripts.  Between  the  years 
1474  and  1600,  it  has  been  estimated  about  350  printers  flour¬ 
ished  in  England  and  Scotland  alone,  and  that  the  products  of 
their  several  presses  amounted  in  the  aggregate  to  10,000  dis¬ 
tinct  productions.  * 

To  attempt  any  computation  of  their  numbers,  subsequently, 
would  defy  our  arithmetical  powers. 

But  for  booksellers,  intellect  would  die  of  famine.  London 
is  the  great  Sanhedrim  of  the  author-craft  of  the  world.  Lon¬ 
don  is  the  very  brain  of  Britain,  the  centre  of  its  literature, 
the  seat  of  its  intelligence.  There  is  the  great  emporium  of 
booksellers,  that  time-honored,  and  worthy  order.  Paternos¬ 
ter  Bow  has  an  aroma  of  paper  and  print.  There  is  no  spot  on 
the  globe  like  it.  The  London  book-trade  is  divided  into  the 
following  branches — the  general  retail  bookseller,  the  dealer  in 
black  letter,  or  second-hand  books,  the  wholesale  merchant,  who 
executes  country  and  foreign  orders,  and  the  publishing,  or 
manufacturing  bookseller.  The  second  class  formerly  did 
chiefly  congregate  in  Little  Britain — now  they  are  scattered 
about  Holborn,  Covent  Garden,  and  the  Strand.  These  are 
depositories  of  those  choice  relics  of  the  olden  time,  that  often 
tempt  such  premiums  from  the  bibliomaniac. 

While  on  this  point,  we  cannot  refrain  from  a  recollection  or 

*  DTsraeli,  in  liis  Curiosities  of  Literature ,  states,  that  the  four  ages  of 
typography  have  produced  no  less  than  3,641,960  works  !  Taking  each  work 
at  three  volumes,  and  reckoning  each  impression  to  consist  of  only  300  copies 
(a  very  moderate  supposition),  the  actual  amount  of  volumes  which  have 
issued  from  the  presses  of  Europe,  down  to  the  year  1816,  appears  to  be 
3,277,640,000  ! 


180 


LOOK  CRAFT. 


two  of  the  brotherhood.  One  was  named  Nunn  ;  he  kept  an 
old  book  establishment  in  Great  Queen  street,  and  although  a 
singularly  large  and  corpulent  personage,  was  scarcely  less  re¬ 
markable  for  his  activity  in  early  life,  than  for  his  austerity  and 
moroseness  in  its  later  stages.  By  his  parsimony  and  patient 
application  to  business,  he  became  ultimately  possessed  of  con¬ 
siderable  wealth ;  and  although  this  was  no  secret,  yet  his  two 
daughters,  who  were  (if  one  may  hazard  gallantry  for  truth) 
remarkably  ugly,  lived  in  single  blessedness  to  the  very  autumn 
of  life;  but,  strange  to  add,  immediately  after  the  demise  of 
their  venerable  parent  at  the  advanced  age  of  eight}7,  they  each 
entered  into  matrimonial  alliances.  Old  Nunn  possessed  many 
peculiarities,  and  although  not  particularly  remarkable  for  in¬ 
dulging  any  “  sudorous  brain-toils  ”  of  his  own,  he  yet  never 
appeared  so  contented,  as  when  immured  among  his  musty 
tomes.  We  well  remember,  his  curious  custom  of  cramming 
his  capacious  coat-pockets,  which,  on  one  occasion,  actually 
yielded  four-and-twenty  octavo  volumes.  D’Arcy,  also  a  dealer 
in  second-hand  and  black-letter  books,  in  Ilolborn,  rendered 
himself  conspicuous,  among  other  eccentricities,  for  the  whim 
of  having  women  in  his  establishment,  some  of  whom  were  de¬ 
cidedly  prett}7;  and  what  is  not  less  singular,  it  is  said,  he  regu¬ 
lated  their  remuneration  according  to  the  ratio  of  their  personal 
attractions.  He  died  wealthy,  like  his  eccentric  contemporary 
just  alluded  to. 

The  wholesale  trade  has  always  resided  in  and  near  Pater¬ 
noster  Bow ;  but  the  chief  house  of  this  class  was  for  many 
years  on  London  Bridge.  Osborne  lived  under  the  gateway 
of  Gray’s  Inn.  Tonson  opposite  the  Strand  Bridge.  Millar, 
facing  St.  Clement’s  Church.  Dodsley,  on  the  site  of  the 
Sliakspeare  Gallery,  in  Pall  Mall. 

Publishers  are  said  to  keep  the  keys  of  the  Temple  of  Fame. 
They  minister  at  the  altar  of  learning,  and  furnish  the  intel- 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


181 


lectual  wealth  of  the  world.  Dr.  Johnson  considered  booksel¬ 
lers  the  patrons  of  literature,  liberal,  generous-minded  men. 
Another  quaintly  asks,  “  Can  a  bookseller  live,  move,  and  have 
his  being,  in  an  atmosphere  of  intellect,  and  not  absorb  the 
very  soul  and  spirit  of  his  books  through  his  pores  \  ”  An 
experienced  bookseller  is  often  better  qualified  to  judge  of  a 
book  than  all  the  critics  that  ever  praised  or  blamed  since  the 
days  of  Diogenes.  Comparatively  few,  however,  of  the  pub¬ 
lishing  fraternity  pretend  to  critical  censorship ;  they  usually 
defer  to  the  critical  judgment  of  some  literary  friend,  in  deter¬ 
mining  the  claims  of  any  work  for  publication. 

In  the  United  States  the  Press  is  represented  by  the  illus¬ 
trious  Franklin,  the  Bacon  of  the  Xew  World — a  trice  juncta 
in  uno ,  printer,  author,  and  philosopher;  and  who  has  been 
thus  technically  described  by  one  of  the  fraternity :  “  The  *  of 
his  profession,  the  type  of  honesty,  the  !  of  all ;  and  although 
the  of  death  has  put  a  .  to  his  existence,  every  §  of  his 
life  is  without  a  || .” 

Types  have  been  likened  to 

‘  ‘  A  thousand  lamps  at  one  lone  altar  lighted, 

Turning  the  night  of  error  into  day.” 

Type-setting  in  early  times  was  not  remarkable  for  its  exact¬ 
ness  and  accuracy.  In  the  year  1561,  a  book  was  printed, 
called  the  Anatomy  of  the  Mass.  It  had  only  172  pages  in  it ; 
but  the  author — a  pious  monk — was  obliged  to  add  fifteen 
pages  to  correct  the  blunders!  These  he . attributes  to  the 
special  instigation  of  the  devil,  to  defeat  the  work ;  and  hence 
may  have  come  the  use  of  the  phrase,  Printer’s  Devil. 

A  printer’s  wife  in  Germany  came  to  grief,  by  feloniously 
meddling  with  the  types.  She  went  into  the  office  by  night, 
and  took  out  the  word  “lord,”  in  Genesis  iii.  16,  where  Eve  is 
made  subject  to  her  husband,  and  made  the  verse  read,  “  he 


182 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


shall  be  thy  fool,”  instead  of  “  he  shall  be  thy  lord.”  Tradition 
adds  that  she  was  put  to  death  for  her  wickedness.  Some 
printers  of  early  editions  of  the  Scriptures  were  so  heavily 
fined  as  to  be  utterly  ruined,  for  leaving  out  the  word  “  not  ” 
from  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments.  There  is  an  edition  of 
the  Bible,  called  the  “  Vinegar  Bible,”  from  the  parable  of  the 
“Vineyard”  being  printed  “vinegar.” 

Among  the  literary  curiosities  in  a  library  at  Southampton, 
England,  is  an  old  Bible,  known  as  the  “  Bug  Bible,”  printed 
by  John  Daye,  1551,  with  prologue  by  Tyndall.  It  derives  its 
name  from  the  peculiar  rendering  of  the  fifth  verse  in  Psalm 
91,  which  reads  thus :  “  So  that  thou  shalt  not  need  to  be  afraid 
for  any  bugs  by  night.” 

Bookbinding  is  an  art  of  great  antiquity.  It  is  two  thou¬ 
sand  years  and  more,  since  Phillatius,  a  Greek,  divided  the 
rolled  volume  into  sheets,  and  glued  these  together  in  the  form 
which  is  familiar  to  us.  The  rolls  had  been  preserved  from 
dust  and  injury  by  being  kept  in  cylindrical  cases ;  and  a  pro¬ 
tection  for  the  book,  in  its  new  shape,  was  soon  found  to  be 
more  necessary  than  before.  This  was  supplied  by  securing 
the  leaves  between  stiff  covers,  probably  of  wood  at  first,  and 
thus  began  the  modern  art  of  bookbinding. 

Soon  the  board  was  covered  with  leather,  making  in  exter¬ 
nal  appearance  a  still  nearer  approach  to  the  workmanship  of 
our  day  ;  but  it  was  not  until  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
that  the  mill-board,  which  unites  lightness  with  .  sufficient 
strength,  was  used  as  the  foundation  of  the  book-cover. 

When  the  sheet  of  paper  of  which  a  book  is  made  is  folded 
in  two  leaves,  the  book  is  called  a  folio ;  when  into  four  leaves, 
it  is  called  quarto ;  when  folded  into  eight  leaves,  it  is  called 
octavo ;  wdien  into  twelve  leaves,  duodecimo,  etc. 

The  ancient  Bomans  ornamented  the  covers  of  their  books 
very  elaborately.  Those  of  wood  were  carved ;  and  upon  some 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


183 


of  these  scenes  from  plays,  and  events  of  public  interest  were 
represented.  About  the  commencement  of  the  Christian  era 
leather  of  brilliant  hues,  decorated  with  gold  and  silver,  had 
come  into  use.  In  the  Middle  Ages  the  monks  exhausted 
their  ingenuity,  and  frequently,  it  would  seem,  their  purses,  in 
adorning  the  covers  of  those  manuscripts,  upon  which  they 
spent  their  lives  in  writing  and  illuminating.  Single  figures  and 
groups,  wrought  in  solid  gold,  silver,  with  enamel,  precious 
stones  and  pearls,  made  the  outside  of  the  volume  correspond 
to  the  splendor  within.  Less  expensive  works  were  often 
bound  in  oaken  boards  very  richly  carved. 

Kings  and*  wealthy  nobles  expended  much  money  upon 
the  binding  of  their  libraries.  Carved  ivory  covers,  protected 
by  golden  corners,  and  secured  by  jewelled  clasps,  were  not 
uncommon,  as  well  as  those  of  velvet,  silk  brocade,  vel¬ 
lum,  and  morocco,  elaborately  ornamented,  after  designs 
made  by  great  artists,  and  protected  with  bosses,  corners, 
and  clasps  of  solid  gold.  The  precious  stones  and  metals 
upon  these  book-covers  cost  us  the  loss  of  many  a  more 
precious  volume,  for  they  frequently  formed  no  inconsider¬ 
able  part  of  the  plunder  of  a  wealthy  mansion,  in  a  cap¬ 
tured  city.  Dibdin  tells  us  of  one  library  of  thirty  thousand 
volumes — that  of  Corvinus,  King  of  Hungary — which  was  de¬ 
stroyed  on  this  account  by  the  Turkish  soldiers,  when  Buda 
was  taken,  in  1526. 

Quite  an  era  in  the  history  of  bookbinding  in  England  was 
formed  by  the  publication  of  the  Great  Bible,  by  Grafton,  in 
1539.  In  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  the  use  of  gold  tooling 
was  introduced,  and  the  designs  for  some  of  the  rolls  are  at¬ 
tributed  to  Holbein.  Queen  Elizabeth  herself  embroidered 
velvet  and  silk  book-covers.  The  art  had  been  carried  to  a 
high  degree  of  excellence  and  finish  in  France.  Many  have 
acquired  great  renown  there,  in  this  department  of  handicraft. 


184 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


A  word  touching  titles:  “  The  titles  of  books,”  writes  the 
author  of  the  Tin  Trumpet,  “are  decoys  to  catch  pur¬ 
chasers.”  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  happy  name  to  a  book 
is  like  an  agreeable  appearance  to  a  man ;  but  if,  in  either 
case,  the  final  do  not  answer  to  the  first  impression,  will  not 
our  disappointment  add  to  the  severity  of  our  judgment? 
•‘Let  me  succeed  with  my  first  impression,”  the  bibliopolist  will 
cry,  “  and  I  ask  no  more.”  The  public  are  welcome  to  end 
with  condemning,  if  they  will  only  begin  with  buying.  Most 
readers,  like  the  tuft-hunters  at  college,  are  caught  by  titles. 
How  inconsistent  are  our  notions  of  morality  !  Ho  man  of 
honor  would  open  a  letter  that  was  not  addressed  to  him, 
though  he  will  not  scruple  to  open  a  book  under  the  same  cir¬ 
cumstances.  Colton’s  Lacon  has  gone  through  many  editions, 
and  yet  it  is  addressed  “  To  those  who  think.”  Had  the  author 
substituted  for  these  words,  “  Those  who  think  they  are  think¬ 
ing,”  it  might  not  have  had  so  extensive  a  sale,  although  it 
would  have  been  directed  to  a  much  larger  class.  He  has 
shown  address  in  his  address. 

Scott  is  known  to  have  profited  much  by  Constable’s  biblio¬ 
graphical  knowledge,  which  was  very  extensive.  The  latter 
christened  Kenilworth ,  which  Scott  named  Cumnor  Hall. 
John  Ballantyne  objected  to  the  former  title,  and  told  Con¬ 
stable  the  result  would  be  “  something  worthy  of  the  kennel ;  ” 
but  the  result  proved  the  reverse.  Mr.  Cadell  relates  that 
Constable’s  vanity  boiled  over  so  much  at  this  time,  on  having 
his  suggestions  adopted,  that,  in  his  high  moods,  he  used  to 
stalk  up  and  down  his  room,  and  exclaim,  “  By  Jove,  I  am  all 
but  the  author  of  the  Maverley  Hovels !  ” 

In  Butler’s  Remains  it  is  remarked,  that  “  there  is  a  kind  of 
physiognomy  in  the  titles  of  books,  no  less  than  in  the  faces  of 
men,  by  which  a  skilful  observer  will  as  well  know  what  to 
expect  from  the  one  as  the  other.” 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


185 


Generally  speaking,  this  is  correct.  But  the  optician  who 
should  happen  to  purchase  a  book  entitled,  A  Hew  Invention , 
or  a  Paire  of  Cristall  Spectacles,  by  helpe  whereof  may  be 
read  so  small  a  print,  that  what  twenty  sheets  of  paper  will 
hardly  contain  shall  be  discovered  in  one  (1644),  would  find,  to 
his  surprise,  that  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  business,  but 
relates  to  the  civil  war.  So  also  might  mistakes  very  readily 
occur  with  regard  to  Tooke’s  Diversions  of  Parley,  which  a 
village  book-club  is  said  to  have  ordered  at  the  time  of  its 
publication,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  a  book  of  amus¬ 
ing  games. 

Some  titles  are  agreeably  short,  and  others  wonderfully 
long.  A  few  years  since,  a  work  was  issued  with  the  laconic 
title  of  It ;  and  for  days  previous  to  its  publication,  the  walls 
of  London  were  placarded  with  the  words,  “  Order  It”  “  Buy 
It”  “Read  It  I  The  naturalist  Lovell  published  a  book  at 
Oxford,  in  1661,  entitled  Panzoologicomineralogia,  which  is 
nearly  as  long  a  word  as  Rabelais’  proposed  title  for  a  book, 
namely,  “  Antipericatametaparhengedamphicribrationes  !  !  ” 

According  to  Stowe's  Chronicle,  the  title  of  Domesday 
Booh  arose  from  the  circumstance  of  the,  original  having  been 
carefully  preserved  in  a  sacred  place  at  Westminster  cloisters, 
called  Domus  Dei,  or  House  of  God. 

Authors  of  the  olden  time  used  to  puff  their  own  works  by 
affixing  “  tahing  titles  ”  to  them ;  such  as  A  right  merrie  and 
wittie  enterlude,  verie  pleasante  to  reade,  etc.  A  marvellous 
wittie  treatise,  etc.  A  delectable,  pitliie,  and,  righte  profitable 
worhe,  etc.  Addison’s  Spectator  proved  so  successful,  that  it 
provoked  Johnson  to  adopt  The  Idler  and  Rambler.  A  very 
amusing  blunder  was  committed  by  a  certain  French  critic, 
who,  notwithstanding  the  conventional  use  of  the  term,  ren¬ 
dered  it  Le  Chevalier  Errant,  and  who,  afterwards,  on  meet¬ 
ing  with  the  “  Colossus  of  English  literature,”  addressed  him 


186 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


with  the  astounding  and  complimentary  epithet  of  Mr.  Vaga¬ 
bond  ! 

A  pamphlet,  published  in  1703,  had  the  following  strange 
title :  “  The  Deformitie  of  Sin  Cured,  a  sermon  preached  at 
St.  Michael’s,  Crooked  Lane,  before  the  Prince  of  Orange,  by 
the  Bev.  J.  Crookshanks.  Sold  by  Matthew  Denton,  at  the 
Crooked  Billet,  near  Cripplegate ,  and  by  all  booksellers.”  The 
words  of  the  text  are,  “Every  crooked  path  shall  be  made 
straight.”  The  prince,  before  whom  it  was  delivered,  was  de¬ 
formed  in  person ! 

Many  adopted  allegorical,  fantastic,  and  absurd  titles — such 
as  “AVt  asleepe ,  Husband  f  a  boulster  lecture,  stored  with 
all  variety  of  witty  jests,  merry  tales,  and  other  pleasant 
passages.”  1640  ;  a  Haps  upon  Parnassus :  a  sleepy  muse  nipt 
and  pincht,  though  not  awakened,  etc.,  by  some  of  the  wits 
of  the  Universities ;  ”  “A  Gorgeous  Gallery  of  Gallant  In¬ 
ventions  /  garnished  and  decked  with  divers  dayntie  devisis,” 
etc.,  by  T.  Proctor.  1578;  “  Coryafs  Crudities ,  hastily 
gobled  up  in  live  moneths’  tra veils  in  France,  Savoy,  Italie,” 
etc.  1611;  “A  fan  to  drive  away  flies”  a  treatise  on  purga¬ 
tory;  “  The  shop  of  the  spiritual  apothecary ,”  “  Matches  lighted 
by  divine  fire”  “  The  gun  of  penitence,  etc.”  One  of  famous 
Puritan  memory,  Sir  Humphrey  Lind,  published  a  book, 
which  a  Jesuit  answered  by  another,  entitled,  “A  pair  of 
spectacles  for  Sir  Humphrey  Lind ;  ”  the  doughty  knight 
retorted  by,  “A  case  for  Sir  Humphrey  Lind’s  spectacles .” 

In  1686  a  pamphlet  was  published  in  London,  entitled  “A 
Most  Delectable  Sweet  Perfumed  Uosegay  for  God’s  Saints  to 
Smell  at.”  About  the  year  1649  there  was  published  a  work 
entitled  “  A  pair  of  Bellows  to  blow  off  the  Dust  Cast  upon 
John  Fry,”  and  “  Crumbs  of  Comfort  for  the  Children  of  the 
Covenant.”  A  Quaker,  whose  outward  man  the  authorities 
thought  proper  to  imprison,  published  “  A  Sigh  of  Sorrow  for 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


187 


the  Sinners  of  Zion,  Breathed  out  of  a  Hole  in  the  Wall  of 
an  Earthly  Vessel,”  known  among  men  by  the  name  of  Samuel 
Fish.  About  the  same  time  there  'was  also  published  “  The 
Spiritual  Mustard-pot  to  make  the  Soul  Sneeze  with  Devotion ;  ” 
“Salvation’s  Vantage-ground,  or  a  Louping-stand  for  Heavy 
Believers.”  Another,  “  A  Shot  Aimed  at  the  Devil’s  Head¬ 
quarters  through  the  Tube  of  the  Cannon  of  the  Covenant.” 
Another,  “A  Beaping-hook  Well  Tempered  for  the  Stubborn 
Ears  of  the  Coming  Crop  ;  or,  Biscuits  Baked  in  the  Oven  of 
Charity,  Carefully  Conserved  for  the  Chickens  of  the  Church, 
the  Sparrows  of  the  Spirit,  and  the  Sweet  Swallows  of  Salva¬ 
tion.”  In  another  we  have  the  following  copious  description 
of  its  contents, — “  Seven  Sobs  of  a  Sorrowful  Soul  for  Sin ; 
or,  The  Seven  Penitential  Psalms  of  the  Princely  Prophet 
David,”  whereunto  are  also  added  William  Humino’s  “  Hand¬ 
ful  of  Honeysuckles,  and  divers  Godly  and  pithy  Ditties  now 
newly  augmented.” 

It  is  fortunate  for  these  laborious  scribes  that  they  lived  in 
times  when  they  found  readers  courageous  enough  to  venture 
beyond  their  titles. 

D’lsraeli  lias  collected  from  the  dust  of  departed  days,  among 
other  curious  matters,  many  amusing  particulars  respecting  the 
subjects  authors  have  chosen  to  dilate  upon  ;  shall  we  glance  at 
a  few  ?  In  classic  times  we  have  Apuleius  and  Agrippa,  suc¬ 
ceeded  by  many  moderns,  wdio,  to  evince  their  irony  and  wit. 
selected  that  fabled  emblem  of  wisdom — the  ass. 

One  Joshua  Barnes  wrote  a  poem  with  the  design  of  proving 
the  authorship  of  the  Iliad ,  traceable  to  King  Solomon;  and 
another  French  critic,  Daurat,  who  lived  in  the  sixteenth  cen¬ 
tury,  pretended,  according  to  Scaliger,  to  find  all  the  Bible  in 
Homer.  Du  Guere  wrote  an  eulogium  on  Wigs.  Erasmus 
amused  himself  by  discussing  The  Praise  of  Folly,  in  his  work 
entitled  Morice  Encomium ,  which,  for  the  sake  of  the  pun,  he 


188 


BOOK  CRAFT. 


dedicated  to  Sir  Thomas  More.  Pierrius’  Treatise  on  Beards , 
Homer’s  war  between  The  Frogs  and  Mice,  and  Lucian’s  dis¬ 
sertation  on  A  Fly ,  present  a  curious  triumvirate  of  classic  taste ; 
and  Gray’s  Ode  on  The  Death  of  a  Cat ,  Pope’s  verses  on  A 
Loch  of  Ilair ,  and  Swift’s  Meditation  on  a  Broomstich ,  may 
serve  as  their  companions  in  modern  times.  Goldsmith  also 
sung  his  Elegy  on  a  mad  dog,  and  Cowper  attuned  his  lute  to 
a  dead  cat. 

Having  reached  such  a  climax,  we  conclude  our  chapter 
upon  Book  Craft — a  theme  of  exhaustless  interest  to  all  who 
have  any  affinity  of  taste  for  books,  and  the  intellectual  sweets 
they  contain, — since  our  too  lavish  indulgence  in  such  refined 
epicurism  might  challenge  our  mental  digestion  too  severely. 

4 


/ 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


The  last  utterances  of  illustrious  personages  possess  for  the 
living,  an  enduring  and  peculiar  interest,  derived  mainly  from 
the  controlling  influence  they  once  exerted  in  social,  religious, 
literary,  artistic,  or  political  life.  Yet,  as  Pliny  justly  remarks, 
the  sayings  and  actions  of  the  most  celebrated  have  not  always 
been  the  most  worthy  of  admiration.  ILow  many  among  the 
unostentatiously  great  have  passed  away  without  the  loud 
clarion  of  fame  to  glorify  their  virtues  ;  and  how  many  more, 
scarcely  less  worthy  pass  away,  under  eclipse,  from  the  obscur¬ 
ing  or  distorting  influence  of  envy,  bigotry,  or  detraction  ! 
And  yet  again,  what  a  goodly  number  of  those  who  have 
sought  to  obtain,  not  the  laurel  crown  of  earthly  fame,  but  that 
crown  “that  fadeth  not  away — the  crown  of  life!”  Their 
record  is  that  of  the  “  patience  of  hope,”  and  the  victory  of 
faith. 


190 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


“  The  chamber  where  the  good  man  meets  his  fate 
Is  privileged  beyond  the  common  walks 
Of  virtuous  life — quite  on  the  verge  of  Heaven.” 

The  final  utterances  of  such  persons  are  eminently  worthy 
of  our  regard,  as  being  illustrative  of  character,  in  its  highest 
moral  development.  In  grouping  together  these  mortuary 
memoranda,  we  shall  not  attempt  any  order  of  classification,  but 
simply  let  each  citation  speak  for  itself  ;  for  there  is  a  sacred¬ 
ness  about  the  last  words  and  last  acts  of  the  dying,  which  it 
would  be  sacrilegious,  otherwise,  to  touch.  Their  words,  too, 
if  ever,  must  be  then,  earnest  and  sincere,  since  as  our  great 
dramatist  has  said — 

“  Where  words  are  scarce,  they’re  seldom  spent  in  vain, 

For  they  breathe  truth,  that  breathe  their  words  in  pain  !  ” 

The  momentous  crisis  of  life’s  last  hour,  is  one  of  intensest 
interest  and  solemnity.  With  what  profound  sympathy  do  we 
watch  over  those  dear  to  us  by  indescribable  ties,  as  their  spirits 

are  about  to  leave  the  frail  body  and  pass  away,  impalpably,  to 

/ 

the  spirit- world.  They  seem  to  be  environed  with  the  mystery  of 
the  supernatural ;  everything  concerning  their  anticipated  exit 
from  the  body,  seems  to  be  shrouded  from  us  by  impenetrable 
and  awful  mystery — the  mystery  of  the  unknown  eternity! 
How  intense  is  the  anguish  with  which  we  watch  the  wasting 

cl  O 

form,  the  changing  of  the  familiar  expression  of  the  face,  into 
an  unearthly  one !  How  eagerly,  as  wre  bend  over  the  couch  of 
the  dying,  do  we  watch  for  the  last  look,  and  listen  for  the  last 
syllable !  How  we  treasure  up  those  last  looks,  and  last  words, 
as  the  cherished  living  mementos  of  the  departed  ! 

Though  silent  while  living,  some  Christians  have  become 
vocal  at  the  closing  hour;  while  others,  who  have  been  demon¬ 
strative  and  eloquent,  by  lip  and  life,  like  Whitefield,  die  and 
make  no  sign.  We  must  not,  however,  attach  undue  value  to 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


191 


death-bed  utterances,  as  indicative  of  real  character ;  sentiments 
expressed  under  such  circumstances,  may  he  possibly  prompted 
by  impulse  rather  than  principle.  Nor  are  we  always  to  rely 
upon  confessions  and  opinions  uttered  in  life’s  great  emergency, 
as  of  final  authority ;  since  such  testimonies  have  occasionally 
been  as  confidently  expressed  against,  as  in  favor  of  Chris¬ 
tianity.  Stolid  and  stoical  insensibility  may  assume  the  guise 
of  complacency  or  indifference,  as  to  the  future  state ;  but  that 
is  as  diverse  from  the  calm  confidence  of  the  true  Christian,  as 
the  counterfeit  is  to  the  true  coin.  Andrew  Fuller,  whose 
robust  intellect  was  not  likely  to  be  seduced  by  specious 
appearances,  exclaimed  when  dying, — “  My  hope  is  such  that  I 
am  not  afraid  to  plunge  into  eternity !  ”  Could  the  effect  of 
the  most  triumphant  end  be  stronger? 

Some  there  are  who,  in  their  last  moments  only,  become 
convinced  of  the  insufficiency  of  the  world  to  sustain  them  in 
the  last  conflict  of  dissolving  nature.  Such  are  among  the 
votaries  of  fashion,  who  seem  to  have  no  conception  that  the 
gift  of  life  involved  any  responsibility  for  its  right  use  :  among 
this  class  might  be  named  Selwyn,  Walpole,  Chesterfield,  Maz 
arine,  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and  a  host  more. 

“  When  spirits  ebb,  when  life’s  enchanting-  scenes 
Fade  in  the  view,  and  vanish  from  the  sight, 

Will  toys  amuse  ?  No  !  thrones  will  then  be  toys, 

And  earth  and  skies  seem  dust  upon  the  scale.” 

There  is  another  class  of  character,  whose  final  utterances 
have  been  avowedly  on  the  side  of  infidelity ;  let  us  just  glance 
at  two  of  the  more  prominent  of  these.  Perhaps  no  one  has 
had  more  literary  homage  conferred  upon  him  than  Voltaire  ; 
yet  it  would  be  difficult  to  discover  an  individual  so  richly 
endowed  with  intellectual  power,  yet  so  utterly  despicable  in  his 
moral  nature.  Ilis  profanity  and  blasphemy  are  too  well 
known,  but  it  may  not  be  so  well  known  that,  in  his  last 


192 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


moments  lie  commanded  bis  philosophical  friends  to  retire. 
“  Begone  !  ”  he  exclaimed,  “it  is  you  who  have  brought  me  to 
my  present  state.”  His  physician  relates  that  the  Marquis  of 
Richelieu,  one  of  Voltaire’s  associates,  fled  from  his  bed-side, 
saying  that  “  the  furies  of  Orestes  could  give  but  a  faint  idea 
of  those  of  Voltaire  !  ” 

The  notorious  author  of  “  The  Age  of  Reason,”  when  dying, 
his  medical  attendant,  Dr.  Manley,  relates  that  he  screamed  at 
being  left  alone,  repeatedly  exclaiming, — “  O  Lord,  help  me  ! 
O  Christ,  help  me!”  During  his  sickness,  a  neighbor  having 
denounced  his  book,  telling  him  that  she  had  burned  it,  Paine 
said,  that  he  wished  all  who  had  ever  read  that  book,  had  been 
as  wise  as  she  ;  adding, — “  If  ever  the  devil  had  an  agent  on 
earth,  I  have  been  one.”  Pleasant  relief  it  is,  to  turn  from 
these  scenes  of  hopeless  death-beds  to  the  calm  serenity  of  that 
of  the  celebrated  Matthew  Henry,  who,  when  dying  said, — •“  A 
life  spent  in  the  service  of  God,  and  communion  with  Him,  is 
the  most  comfortable  and  pleasant  life  that  anyone  can  live  in 
this  present  world.”  And  his  counsel  has  been  indorsed  by 
multitudes  of  the  wisest  and  noblest  of  the  race,  as  well  as  by 
yet  greater  multitudes  who  knew  not  the  wisdom  of  this  world, 
but  who  yet  were  “  wise  unto  salvation.” 

“  Is  that  his  death-bed  where  the  Christian  lies  ? 

Is  o  !  ’tis  not  his  :  ’tis  death  itself  there  dies  !  ” 

Those  ever-memorable  words — “  Lord  Jesus  !  receive  my 
spirit !  ” — with  which  was  committed  to  the  fruitful  earth,  the 
life-blood  of  the  protomartyr,  Stephen, — so  faithful  an  echo  of 
the  cry  of  Him,  who  died  that  a  dying  world  might  live, — have 
been  themselves  re-echoed  with  the  expiring  breath  of  count¬ 
less  multitudes  of  souls. 

Columbus  closed  his  wonderful  career  with  the  same  devout 
sentiment, — “  In  manus  tuas ,  Domine ,  commendo  spiritum 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


193 


meumP  Tasso  expired,  while  uttering  the  same  devout  senti¬ 
ment  in  the  Italian ;  and  the  saintly  George  Herbert’s  last  ut¬ 
terance  was  again,  almost  verbally  the  same  wish ;  and  lastly  a 
later  servant  of  the  sanctuary,  the  gifted  Edward  Irving,  after 
repeating  the  twenty-third  Psalm  in  Hebrew,  closed  his  elo¬ 
quent  lips  and  life  on  earth,  with  these  words,  “  If  I  die,  I  die 
unto  the  Lord.” 

We  weep,  instinctively,  over  the  cold  lifeless  forms  of  those 
we  have  loved  and  lost;  and  our  sadness  and  sorrow  are  often¬ 
times  assuaged  or  mitigated  by  the  sweet  relief  of  tears. 

11  We  miss  them  when  the  board  is  spread, 

We  miss  them  when  the  prayer  is  said ; 

But  the  sadness  of  this  aching-  love 
Dims  not  our  ‘  Father’s  house  ’  above.” 

Beyond  the  charmed  circle  of  the  domestic  affections,  how¬ 
ever,  there  ought  to  be  no  inconsolable  grief  for  the  departure  of 
the  great  and  good, — no  tears  bnt  those  of  gratitude  should  be¬ 
dew  their  graves ;  for  though,  like  the  lark,  they  have  soared 
heavenward,  singing  as  they  soar, — they  have  also  enriched  us 
by  the  legacy  they  have  left  of  their  instructive  and  beautiful 
life  record.  The  living  and  those  whom  we  call  dead,  are  all 
of  one  great  family ;  and  those  who  have  passed  away  from 
among  us  have  yet  bequeathed  the  wealth  of  their  wisdom  to 
us,  as  an  imperishable  possession. 

John  Wesley’s  last  words  were, — “  The  best  of  all  is,  God  is 
with  us  !  ”  Ilalyburton’s  death-scene  is  described  as  one  of  the 
most  rapturous  in  the  history  of  the  church ;  such  was  also  the 
closing  hour  of  the  French  pastor,  Pi  vet ;  such  also  that  of 
worthy  Doctor  Donne,  who  exclaimed  “  I  were  miserable,  if  1 
might  not  die!”  Among  the  memorable  utterances  of  this 
saintly  man,  just  before  his  departure,  wTas  this  :  “  I  repent  of 
my  life  except  that  part  of  it  which  I  spent  in  communion  with 
13 


194 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


God,  and  in  doing  good !  ”  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  last  words  were 
a  benediction  to  his  sorrowing  home-circle,  “  God  bless  you  all.” 
Sir  James  Mackintosh,  just  as  he  was  expiring,  expressed  much 
in  Kttle,  for  it  was  but  a  word,  yet  how  significant  a  one — 
“  Happy  !  ”  Our  own  revered  Washington’s  last  utterance  was  in 
a  single  short  sentence,  no  less  expressive — “  It  is  well !  ”  These 
are  a  few  of  the  echoes  from  Christian  death-chambers ;  how 
many,  in  the  heroic  ages  of  the  church,  have  made  their  exit 
from  us,  in  a  sheet  of  flame,  like  that  dauntless  confessor, 
Bishop  Ferrar,  in  1555,  who,  while  being  chained  to  the  stake, 
exclaimed,  “  If  I  stir,  through  the  pains  of  my  burning,  believe 
not  the  doctrine  I  have  taught !  ” 

“  These  taught  us  how  to  live ;  aud  oh,  too  high 
A  price  for  knowledge,  taught  us  how  to  die  !  ” 

“  The  ruling  passion,  strong  in  death,”  has  been  often  illus¬ 
trated:  Lord  Nelson’s  last  words  were:  “  Tell  Collingwood  to 
bring  the  fleet  to  an  anchor.”  The  demise  of  Napoleon ,  at  St. 
Helena,  which  was  accompanied  by  a  terrific  storm,  that  tore  up 
by  the  roots  most  of  the  trees  at  Longwood,  was  another  nota¬ 
ble  instance.  At  six  o’clock,  in  the  evening  of  the  5th  of  May, 
1820,  having  just  uttered  the  significant  words,  “ Tete  cParmee!  ” 
the  great  soldier  passed  forever  from  the  dreams  of  battle. 
Cardinal  Wolsefis  closing  hours  were  characterized  by  a  consis¬ 
tent  hostility  to  the  Protestant  faith,  for  he  said :  “  Master 
Kingston,  the  King  should  know  that  if  he  tolerates  heresy, 
God  will  take  away  his  Kingdom !  ”  Erasmus ,  when  dying, 
exclaimed, — “  Domine  !  Domine  !  fac  finem,  fac  finem  !  ”  Lord 
Chesterfield ,  the  idol  of  fashion — as  he  lay  dying,  seeing  a  friend 
enter  his  chamber,  with  his  accustomed  etiquette,  said  :  “  Give 
Day  roles  a  chair.”  Charles  I.,  as  he  ascended  the  scaffold  at 
Whitehall,  said :  “  I  fear  not  death,  death  is  not  terrible  to  me !  ” 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


195 


Lord  Roscommon,  when  about  to  expire,  uttered  with  the  en¬ 
ergy  of  devotion,  these  two  lines  of  his  version  of  Dies  Ires : 

“My  God,  my  Father,  and  my  friend, 

Do  not  forsake  me  in  my  end  !  ” 

The  great  Sir  Isaac  Newton  died  suddenly  and  voiceless — 
in  the  act  of  winding  up  his  watch ;  and  Haller ,  feeling  his 
own  pulse,  exclaimed,  “  The  artery  ceases  to  beat,”  and  instantly 
expired.  Goldsmith ,  when  his  physician,  unable  to  pronounce  a 
diagnosis  of  his  disease,  inquired  if  his  mind  was  at  ease,  re¬ 
plied, — “  No,  it  is  not  !  ”  These  were  the  last  sad  words  of  one 
who  had  so  largely  ministered  to  the  intellectual  pleasure  of  the 
civilized  world.  Just  before  Pope  expired,  as  he  sat  in  his 
chair,  a  friend  called  to  inquire  how  he  was ;  “  I  am  dying, 
sir,  of  a  hundred  good  symptoms,”  said  the  wit.  When  a  friend 
called  upon  Dr.  Johnson,  during  his  last  sickness,  and  inquired 
how  he  was,  he  replied  in  a  melancholy  tone,  “  Jam  Mori - 
turns!  The  dread  monster  death — on  the  last  day  of  his  ex¬ 
istence,  came  to  his  mental  apprehension  envisaged  with  all  the 
horrors  that  had  so  haunted  him  through  life.  Many  bishops 
and  prominent  ministers  of  religion  visited  him  ;  but  failed  to 
“  minister  to  a  mind  diseased  ;  ”  and  it  was  reserved  for  an  ob¬ 
scure  clergyman  he  had  formerly  known,  to  suggest  that  spiri¬ 
tual  consolation  his  condition  demanded.  Klojpstock  closed  a 
beautiful  life  in  the  act  of  reciting  his  own  charming  verses, 
descriptive  of  the  death  of  Mary,  the  sister  of  Martha  and  Laza¬ 
rus.  This  song  was  chanted  at  the  public  funeral  of  the  poet. 
Goethe ,  after  more  than  the  usually  allotted  term  of  human  ex¬ 
istence,  when  met  by  the  summons,  was  still  busy  with  his  pen 
— the  implement,  at  once,  of  his  pleasure  and  his  power  ;  and  he 
sank  as  a  child,  with  the  glow  of  the  day’s  activity  yet  on  his 
cheek,  exclaiming,  “  More  light !  more  light !  ”  Haydn’s  genius 
like  Southey’s  and  others,  was  under  eclipse  before  his 


196  LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 

earthly  life  ceased.  In  his  latter  years,  when  visited  by  stran¬ 
gers,  they  found  him  in  a  room,  sitting  before  a  desk,  with  the 
melancholy  aspect  of  one  who  seemed  conscious  of  his  lost 
power.  When  the  war  broke  out  between  Austria  and  France, 
in  1809,  the  intelligence  roused  Haydn,  and  exhausted  the 
shattered  remnant  of  his  remaining  strength.  The  French 
army  advanced  with  gigantic  strides,  and  at  length  reached 
close  upon  his  house ;  yet  he  was  carried  to  his  piano,  when 
he  sang  thrice,  as  loud  as  he  was  able, — “  God  preserve  the  Em¬ 
peror!  ”  It  was  the  song  of  the  swan  ;  while  at  the  piano  he 
fell  into  a  kind  of  stupor,  and  expired.  There  is  something 
strikingly  beautiful  and  touching  in  the  circumstances  of  the 
death  of  his  brother-composer  Mozart — his  sweetest  song  was 
the  last  he  sang,  u  the  Requiem .”  He  had  been  employed  upon 
this  exquisite  piece  for  several  weeks.  After  giving  it  its 
last  touch,  and  breathing  into  it  that  undying  spirit  of  song, 
which  was  to  consecrate  it  through  all  time  as  his  u  cygnean 
strain,”  he  fell  into  a  gentle  and  quiet  slumber.  At  length,  the 
light  footsteps  of  his  daughter  Emilie  awoke  him.  “  Come 
hither,”  said  he,  “  my  Emilie — my  task  is  done — the  Hequiem 
— my  Hequiem  is  finished.”  “  Say  not  so,  dear  father,”  said 
the  gentle  girl,  interrupting  him,  as  tears  stood  in  her  eyes ; 
“  you  must  be  better — you  look  better,  for  even  now  your  cheek 
has  a  glow  upon  it.  I  am  sure  we  will  nurse  you  well  again 
— let  me  bring  you  something  refreshing.”  “  Do  not  deceive 
yourself,  my  love,”  said  the  dying  father  ;  “  this  wasted  form 
can  never  be  restored  by  human  aid.  From  Heaven’s  mercy 
alone  do  I  look  for  aid,  in  this  my  dying  hour.  You  spoke  of 
refreshment,  my  Emilie — take  these,  my  last  notes — sit  down 
by  my  piano  here — sing  them  with  the  hymn  of  thy  sainted 
mother — let  me  once  more  hear  those  tones  which  have  been  so 
long  my  solacement  and  delight.”  Emilie  obeyed  ;  and  with 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


197 


a  voice  enriched  with  tenderest  emotion,  sang  the  following 
stanzas : 


“  Spirit !  thy  labor  is  o’er  ! 

Thy  term  of  probation  is  run  ; 

Thy  steps  are  now  bound  for  the  untrodden  shore ; 

And  the  race  of  immortals  begun  ! 

“  Spirit !  look  not  on  the  strife, 

Or  the  pleasures  of  earth,  with  regret, — 

Pause  not  on  the  threshold  of  limitless  life  ! 

To  mourn  for  the  day  that  is  set. 

“Spirit !  no  fetters  can  bind, 

No  wicked  have  power  to  molest  ; 

There,  the  weary — like  thee,  the  wretched  shall  find 
A  haven, — a  mansion  of  rest, 

“  Spirit  !  how  bright  is  the  road, 

For  which  thou  art  now  on  the  wing  ! 

Thy  home,  it  will  be  with  thy  Saviour  and  God, 

There  loud  hallelujahs  to  sing  !  ” 

As  she  concluded,  she  dwelt  for  a  moment  upon  the  low, 
melancholy  notes  of  the  piece,  and  then  turning  from  the  in¬ 
strument,  looked  in  silence  for  the  approving  smile  of  her  father. 
It  was  the  still,  passionless  smile  which  the  rapt  and  joyous 
spirit  had  left,  with  the  seal  of  death  upon  those  features. 

The  demise  of  Beethoven  was  peculiarly  impressive.  He 
had  been  visibly  declining,  when  suddenly  lie  revived — a  bright 
smile  illumed  his  features,  as  he  softly  murmured,  “I  shall  hear 
in  heaven,”  (he  was  then  deaf,)  and  then  sung  in  a  low,  but  dis¬ 
tinct  voice  one  of  his  own  beautiful  German  hvmns. 

What  a  moral  grandeur  gathers  around  the  death-scene  of  the 
great  and  good  of  earth,  wdien  sanctified  by  a  religious  faith; 
and  how  fearful  the  contrast  when  the  departing  spirit  leaves 
the  world  all  unprepared,  unannealed,  unblessed,  with  all  the 
terrible  premonitions  of  a  coming  judgment. 


198 


LAST  WORDS  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS. 


■4 


It  is  refreshing  to  find  some  evidences  of  deep  consciousness 
of  the  vast  solemnity  befitting  a  dying  hour,  among  men  en¬ 
dowed  beyond  the  average  of  their  race  with  intellectual 
strength ;  as  in  the  case  of  Grotius,  who,  on  being  asked  for 
his  dying  admonition,  exclaimed,  “ Be  serious /”  All  his  vast 
learning  did  not  allow  him  to  think  lightly  of  the  paramount 
claims  of  those  things  which  make  for  our  eternal  peace.  Sir 
William  Jones,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  geniuses  that  ever 
lived,  affords  similar  evidence  of  the  right  estimate  of  human 
learning,  compared  with  the  more  important  concerns  of  the 
future  world.  “It  matters  not,”  says  Johnson,  “how  a  man 
dies,  but  how  he  lives.”  And  even  sceptical  Rousseau  observes : 
“  The  great  error  is,  placing  such  an  estimate  on  this  life,  as 
if  our  being  depended  on  it,  and  we  were  nothing  after  death.” 
To  attach  ourselves  but  slightly  to  human  affairs,  is  the  best 
method  of  learning  to  die.  When  Garrick  showed  Dr.  John¬ 
son  his  fine  house  and  gardens,  at  Hampton  Court,  instead  of 
his  replying  in  the  language  of  flattery,  he  exclaimed,  “  Ah ! 
David,  David,  these  are  the  things  which  make  a  death-bed 
terrible.” 


•* 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


“  Man  is  a  dupable  animal.  Quacks  in  medicines,  quacks  in  religion,  and  quacks  in  politics 
know  this,  and  act  upon  that  knowledge.  There  is  scarcely  any  one  who  may  not,  like  a  trout,  be 
taken  by  tickling.” — Southey. 


Sm  Thomas  Beowxe  has  nobly  sought  to  dignify  the  medical 
profession ;  and  it  would  be  undignified  in  us  to  attempt  to 
impeach  his  excellent  judgment.  There  are,  however,  sundry 
phases  of  the  Faculty  that  present  points  of  humor  and  eccen¬ 
tricity  so  amusing,  that  to  indulge  a  little  merriment  over 
them,  cannot  but  prove  an  innocent  pastime.  There  is  fun 
enough  in  “  love,  law,  and  physic,”  if  we  seek  it  out.  Any  oue 


200 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


with  an  eye  for  the  ludicrous,  will  not  need  any  specifications 
in  point.  Much  that  is  farcical  in  physic  is,  by  the  law  of 
electric  affinities,  transferred  to  the  physician  himself. 

Judging  by  the  latitudinarianism  of  some  practitioners,  and 
the  absurd  nostrums  of  empirics  and  quacks,  in  all  ages,  it  has 
been  gravely  asked,  whether  doctors  are  really  not  the  final 
cause  of  disease.  It  is  not,  of  course,  to  be  disputed,  that  they 
have  been,  to  no  inconsiderable  extent,  accessory  both  to  the 
reduction  of  disease  and — of  life  itself.  But  for  the  inherent 
tendency  of  mankind  to  blind  credulity  and  superstition,  it 
may  be  doubted,  whether  the  profession  of  medicine  would 
ever  have  been  made  the  vehicle  of  such  gross  absurdities  and 
cunning  impostures,  as  its  past,  and  especially  its  earlier  history 
reveals.  We  are  not  about,  however,  to  cast  any  imputation 
upon  the  science  of  therapeutics ;  our  purpose  being  to  glance 
at  some  of  the  wild  and  monstrous  follies,  that  have  so  long 
disputed  its  claims  to  the  suffrages  of  society.  Medical  prac¬ 
tice  has  been  defined,  for  the  most  part,  guessing  at  nature’s 
intentions  and  wishes,  and  then  endeavoring  to  supplement 
them,  by  the  application  of  chemical  agents. 

“Xature,”  says  a  French  philosophical  writer,  “  is  fighting 
with  disease ;  a  blind  man  armed  with  a  club, — that  is,  the 
physician, — comes  to  settle  the  difference.  lie  first  tries  to 
make  peace  ;  when  he  cannot  accomplish  this,  he  lifts  his  club 
and  strikes  at  random.  If  he  strikes  the  disease,  he  kills  it ;  if 
he  strikes  nature,  lie  kills  the  patient.”  One  who  himself 
turned  states-evidence  on  this  point, — D’Alembert, — relates,  that 
an  individual,  after  conducting  a  prominent  practice  for  thirty 
years,  confessed,  as  his  reason  for  retiring  from  it,  that  he  was 
weary  of  guessing  !  An  industrious  nosologist  has  estimated, 
that  there  are  about  twenty-four  hundred  disorders  incident  to 
the  human  frame  !  Possibly  our  great  dramatist  was  not  aware 
to  what  numerical  extent  reached  “  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDIC  IXE. 


201 


to,”  or  lie  would  scarcely  liave  so  disparagingly  suggested  that 
we  should  “  throw  physic  to  the  dogs.”  Or  it  may  possibly 
have  been  because  there  is,  according  to  Punch ,  “  an  evident 
affinity  between  physic  and  the  dogs,  a  fact,  that  shows  the 
master  mind  of  Shakspeare  in  suggesting  the  throwing  of  the 
former  to  the  latter ;  for  it  is  clear  that  every  medicine,  like 
every  dog,  lias  its  day.  Pills  have  had  their  popularity,  and 
elixirs  have  had  their  run.  Lozenges  have  taken  their  turn  on 
the  wheel  of  fortune,  and  even  pastes  have  been  stuck  to,  for  a 
time,  by  crowds  of  adherents.” 

Hapoleon  once  said  to  one  of  his  physicians  (Dr.  Antom- 
marchi),  u  Believe  me,  we  had  better  leave  off  all  these  reme¬ 
dies, — life  is  a  fortress  that  neither  you,  nor  I,  know  anything 
about.  Why  throw  obstacles  in  the  way  of  its  defence  ?  Its 
own  means  are  superior  to  all  the  apparatus  of  your  laborato¬ 
ries.  Medicine  is  a  collection  of  uncertain  prescriptions,  the 
results  of  which,  taken  collectively,  are  more  fatal  than  useful 
to  mankind.” 

The  celebrated  Zimmerman  went  from  Hanover  to  attend 
Frederick  the  Great,  in  his  last  illness.  One  day  the  king  said 
to  him,  “  You  have,  I  presume,  sir,  helped  many  a  man  into 
another  world  \  ”  This  was  rather  a  bitter piU  for  the  doctor ; 
but  the  dose  he  gave  the  king  in  return,  was  a  judicious  mix¬ 
ture  of  truth  and  flattery  :  “Hot  so  many  as  your  majesty,  nor 
with  so  much  honor  to  myself,”  was  the  reply.  Colman  says, 
“  the  medical  and  military,  both  deal  in  death  ;  ”  and  if  true, 
that  two  of  a  trade  never  agree,  it  may  be  the  emperor  was 
jealous  of  his  reputation. 

It  has  been  well  said  :  “  The  world  is  peopled  by  two  classes 
of  beings,  who  seem  to  be  cognate  and  necessary  to  each  other. 
Charlatans  and  dupes  exist  by  a  mutual  dependence.  There 
is  a  tacit  understanding,  that  whatever  the  one  invents,  the 
other  must  believe.  All  bills  which  the  former  draws,  the 


202 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


latter  comes  forward  at  once  and  honors.  One  is  Prosjpero ,  the 
other  his  poor  slave,  Caliban .  Let  the  rogue  open  shop  to  dis¬ 
pense  pills,  the  simpleton,  as  soon  as  he  learns  the  fact,  hies  to 
the  place,  and  takes  his  box  of  specifics,  and  complacently 
walks  away  with  his  prize.  The  knaves  seem  to  consider  the 
world  as  a  rich  parish — a  large  diocese  of  dunces,  into  which 
they  have  an  hereditary  and  prescriptive  right  to  be  installed.” 

Addison,  wTho  surrounded  himself  with  all  the  accessories  of 
fortune,  seems  to  have  had  a  depreciating  estimate  of  the 
Faculty.  These  are  his  wTords :  “  If  we  look  into  the  profes¬ 
sion  of  physic,  we  shall  find  a  most  formidable  body  of  men  ; 
the  sight  of  them  is  enough  to  make  a  man  serious,  for  we  may 
lay  it  down  as  a  maxim  that  when  a  nation  abounds  in  physi¬ 
cians,  it  grows  thin  of  people.”  This  body  of  men,  he  com¬ 
pares  to  the  British  army  in  Caesar’s  time — some  of  them  slay 
in  chariots,  and  some  on  foot.  If  the  infantry  do  less  execu¬ 
tion  than  the  charioteers,  it  is  because  they  cannot  be  carried 
so  soon  into  all  quarters,  and  dispatch  so  much  business  in  so 
short  a  time. 

Empirics  and  charlatans  are  the  excrescences  of  the  medical 
profession ;  they  have  obtained  in  all  ages,  yet  the  healing  art 
is  not  necessarily  the  occasion  for  deception  ;  nor  the  operations 
of  witchcraft,  charms,  amulets,  astrology,  necromancy,  alchemy, 
or  magic ;  although  it  has  its  mysteries  like  other  branches  of 
occult  science. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  men  in  early  ages  of  civilization, 
should  ascribe  the  curative  art,  to  the  potency  of  some  unseen 
and  supernatural  agency,  since  the  diseases  incident  to  the 
human  family  were  supposed  to  be  the  result  of  the  ire  of  the 
heathen  deities. 

The  Jews  are  the  first  people  on  record  who  practised  the 
art  of  healing,  which  they  probably  learned  from  the  Egyp¬ 
tians  ;  but  the  Greeks,  who  worshipped  Aesculapius,  as  the  god 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


203 


of  medicine,  first  reduced  that  art  to  a  regular  system.  Hippo¬ 
crates,  is  justly  considered  the  father  of  physic,  being  the 
most  ancient  author,  whose  writings  on  that  subject  are  pre¬ 
served.  The  most  celebrated  physicians  who  succeeded  him 
were  Asclepiades,  Celsus,  and  Galen. 

Old  astrologers, *  and  the  like  fraternity,  with  their  mathe¬ 
matical  marks  and  zodiacal  signs,  sought  to  invest  their  craft 
with  a  mysterious  sanctity.  Boasting  its  origin  and  authority 
to  be  heaven-derived,  with  its  blazonry  of  factitious  distinction ; 
wou\d  it  be  suspected  after  all,  that  the  curative  art  is  to  be 
traced  even  to  the  instinct  of  the  brutes?  For  example,  the 
sagacious  dog,  when  indisposed,  may  be  seen  to  enact  himself 
the  doctor,  by  a  resort  to  the  fields  to  eat  a  quantity  of  prickly 
grass — an  expedient  which  seldom  fails  of  success,  by  acting  as 
an  emetic.  The  same  with  the  cat,  when  she  finds  herself  “  a 
little  under  the  weather,*’  forthwith  she  sneaks  off  for  some 
catnip.  There  is  a,  story  related  of  an  Arabian  shepherd,  who, 
having  observed  the  goats  of  his  flock,  as  often  as  they  browsed 
upon  the  coffee-fruit,  to  skip  about  and  exhibit  signs  of  intoxi¬ 
cation,  tasting  the  berry  himself,  tested  the  fact.  The  apes  of 
Abyssinia,  in  the  same  way,  indicated  to  their  superior  masters, 
the  laxative  qualities  of  the  cassia  fistula.  One  might  almost 
suppose,  therefore,  a  necessity  for  the  resorting  to  sorcery, 
witchcraft,  sticliomancy,  and  other  mysterious  agencies,  in 
order  to  disguise  the  humble  sources  of  some  elementary 
branches  of  our  famed  medical  lore.  Egypt,  India,  and  Pales¬ 
tine  seem  to  have  been  blessed  with  no  small  supply  of  the 
erudite  in  these  matters ;  such  as  pneumatologists,  exorcists, 
magicians,  tliaumaturgists,  and  enchanters.  These  magi  com¬ 
bined,  with  their  exercise  of  the  healing  art  for  the  body,  the 
.  power  of  curing  psychological  maladies,  and  with  such  an  ex¬ 
tensive  variety  of  practice,  these  ancient  sages  must  have  made 
a  tolerably  good  thing  of  it.  In  Greece  and  Home,  sorcery  and 


204 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


its  kindred  arts  were  extensively  resorted  to;  and  even  till 
recent  times,  such  incantations  were  practised  in  some  of  the 
most  polished  countries  of  Europe. 

Pliny  speaks  of  one  Chrysippas,  reputed  a  famous  practi¬ 
tioner  of  his  day,  who  gained  his  notoriety  by  advocating  cab¬ 
bages  as  the  panacea  for  all  complaints ! 

In  Egypt,  medicine  was  fettered  by  absurd  regulations. 
The  chief  priests  confined  themselves  to  the  exercise  of  magic 
rites  and  prophecies,  which  they  considered  the  higher 
branches  of  the  art,  and  left  the  exhibition  of  remedies  to  the 
pastophori ,  or  image-bearers.  They  were  compelled  to  follow 
implicitly  the  medical  precepts  of  the  sacred  records  contained 
in  the  “  liermetical  books,”  a  deviation  from  which  was  punish¬ 
able  with  death.  From  a  superstitious  dread  of  evil,  and  a  de¬ 
sire  to  penetrate  into  futurity,  arose  the  mystic  divination  of 
Greece  and  Pome,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Druids.  This  divina¬ 
tion  assumed  the  sanctity  of  a  religious  ceremony,  and  thus 
priests  became  invested  with  a  supposed  supernatural  power 
for  the  cure  of  diseases.  Thus,  magic  and  medicine  were 
allied  with  astrology  and  religion. 

Paracelsus  was  the  prince  of  charlatans ;  he  styled  himself, 
indeed,  the  “  King  of  physic  ”  ;  and  although  he  professed  to 
have  discovered  the  elixir  of  life,  yet  it  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  available  in  his  own  case,  for  he  died  at  the  early  age  of 
forty-eight  years. 

Among  cpiaint  and  marvellous  nostrums  of  the  renowned 
Albertus  Magnus  is  the  following  sagacious  specific  against  a 
faithless  memory  :  “  If  the  liarte,  eye  or  brayne  of  a  lapwinge 
or  black  plover,  be  hanged  upon  a  man’s  necke,  it  is  profitable 
agaynste  forgetfulnesse,  and  sharpeth  man’s  understandinge.” 

That  notorious  old  astrologer,  Nostradamus  of  Salon,  was  of 
the  medical  fraternity,  and  also  a  mathematician  and  prophet! 
His  reputation  was  established  by  the  publication,  in  1555,  of 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


205 


a  grim  folio,  comprising  his  mystic  prophecies.  These  attract¬ 
ing  the  notice  of  Henry  II.,  he  sent  for  the  author  to  Paris  to 
consult  him,  as  also  did  Catharine  de  Medici. 

Among  other  delusions  of  past  times  was  that  of  the  royal 
gift  of  healing.  It  has  been  remarked  as  singular,  that,  with  the 
vulgar  errors  exposed  by  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  in  his  Pseudo- 
doxia  Epidemica ;,  there  should  be  no  mention  made  of  this ; 
but,  from  a  case  related  in  the  Adenochoiradelogia ,  it  would 
seem  that  this  eccentric  but  able  man  had  himself  faith  in  the 
thing.  Burton,  in  his  Anatomie  of  Melancholic,  notices  many 
curious  recipes  and  “  Bookes  of  Physicked  One  work,  en¬ 
titled  The  Queen's  Closet  Opened ,  containing  “  divers  things 
necessary  to  be  knowne,  collected  out  of  sundrie  olde  written 
bookes,  and  broughte  into  one  order.  The  several  things  here¬ 
in  contayned  may  be  seen  in  the  bookes  and  tables  follow- 
inge,  written  in  the  yeare  of  our  Lorde  God  1610.”  The  work 
commences  with  the  “  thirty- three  evil  dayes  ”  of  the  yeare, 
and  a  general  calendar;  there  is  a  curious  medley  of  rules 
about  the  weather,  astronomical  calculations,  and  prognostica¬ 
tions.  The  first  book  has  this :  “  A  coppye  of  all  such  medi¬ 
cines  wherewith  ye  noble  Countess  of  Oxenforde,  most  chari¬ 
tably,  in  her  owne  person,  did  manye  greate  and  notable  cures 
upon  poor  neighboures.”  The  second  book  is  entitled,  u  Here 
beginnetli  a  true  coppye  of  such  medicines  wherewith  Mrs. 
Johan  Ounsteade,  daughter  unto  the  worshipfule  Mr.  John 
Oliffe,  Alderman  of  London,  hath  cured  and  healed  many  for- 
lorne  and  deadlie  diseases,”  etc.  An  extract  from  the  above 
will  show  the  then  state  of  medical  science.  “  To  take  away 
frekels — take  the  bloude  of  an  hare,  annoynte  them  with  it, 
and  it  will  doe  them  away.”  “  For  a  man  or  woman  that  hath 
lost  theire  speeche — take  wormwood,  and  stampe  it,  and  tem¬ 
per  it  with  water,  strayne  it,  and  with  a  spoone  doe  of  it  into 
theire  mouthes.” 


206 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


In  Andrew  Borde’s  Breviarie  of  Health ,  one  of  the  earliest 
medical  works  (1547),  in  the  English  language,  occurs  the  fol¬ 
lowing  curious  passage  respecting  love-sickness.  “  Ilereos  is 
the  Greke  word  ;  in  Latin  it  is  named  amor ;  in  English  it  is 
named  love-sich •  and  women  may  have  this  fickleness  as  well 
as  men.  Young  persons  be  much  troubled  with  this  impedi¬ 
ment.-’  After  stating  the  cause  of  this  “  infirmitie,”  he  pre¬ 
scribes  the  following  remedy  :  “  First  I  do  advertise  every  per¬ 
son  not  to  set  to  the  harte,  what  another  doth  set  to  the  heale  ; 
let  no  man  set  his  love  so  far,  but  that  he  may  withdraw  it  be- 
time ;  and  muse  not,  but  use  mirth  and  merrie  company,  and 
be  wise  and  not  foolish.” 

The  practice  of  physic,  it  must  be  apparent,  is  easily  sus¬ 
ceptible  of  being  made  the  occasion  of  cheat  and  imposture. 
Abernethy,  on  being  appealed  to  by  a  patient  on  behalf  of  her 
fancied  indisposition,  had  the  frankness  (after  taking  his 
guinea  fee)  to  state  that  her  symptoms  merely  indicated  the  ab¬ 
sence  of  health  and  also  of  disease,  and  handing  her  back  a  shil¬ 
ling,  advised  her  to  get  a  skipping-rope  and  use  it.  Walpole  says 
that  acute  and  sensible  people  are  frequently  the  most  easily  de¬ 
ceived  by  quacks.  A  recent  writer,  referring  to  the  success 
which  generally  attends  any  daring  and  impudent  imposture, 
remarks  :  “  If  the  cheat  required  ingenuity  to  detect  it,  there 
might  be  some  hope  for  mankind;  but  it  actually  lies  con¬ 
cealed  in  its  very  obviousness .” 

Physicians  were  formerly  ecclesiastics.  A  curious  instance 
of  preferring  the  medical  to  the  clerical  profession,  from  the 
conceit  of  supposed  destiny,  is  thus  related  : 

u  Andrew  Rudiger,  a  physician  of  Leipsic,  took  it  into  his 
head  to  form  an  anagram  on  his  name ;  and  in  the  words 
Andreas  Rudigerus  he  found  a  vocation,  namely,  4  Arare  rus 
Dei  dignus .’  Thereupon  he  concluded  that  he  was  called  to 
the  priesthood,  and  began  to  study  theology.  Soon  after,  he 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


207 


became  tutor  to  the  children  of  the  learned  Thomasius.  This 
philosopher  one  day  told  him  that  he  had  much  better  apply  to 
medicine.  Rudiger  admitted  his  inclination  to  that  profession, 
but  stated  that  the  anagram  of  his  name — which  he  explained 
to  Thomasius — had  seemed  to  him  a  divine  vocation  to  the 
priesthood.  4  What  a  simpleton  you  are !  ’  said  Thomasius  ; 
4  why,  ’tis  the  very  anagram  of  your  name  that  calls  you  -to 
medicine.  Husdei — is  not  that  the  burial  ground?  And  who 
ploughs  it  better  than  the  doctors  ?  ’  In  effect,  Rudiger  turned 
doctor,  unable  to  resist  the  interpretation  of  his  anagram.” 

In  the  year  1776,  there  lived  a  German  doctor,  who  styled 
himself,  or  was  called, 44  the  Rain-water  doctor  ”  ;  all  the  diseases 
to  which  flesh  is  heir,  he  professed  to  cure  by  this  simple  agent. 
Some  wonderful  cures  were,  it  is  said,  achieved  by  means  of 
his  application  of  this  fluid,  and  his  reputation  spread  far  and 
wide  ;  crowds  of  maimed  and  sickly  folk  flocked  to  him,  seek¬ 
ing  relief  at  his  hands.  What  is  yet  more  remarkable  still, 
he  declined  accepting  any  fee  from  his  patients ! 

Rostrums,  like  Nostradamus,  have  their  day  ;  when  the  spe¬ 
cific  for  all  diseases,  some  years  hence,  was  camomile  tea,  a  wag 
thus  sang  its  virtues  : 


“  Let  doctors,  or  quacks,  prescribe  as  they  may, 

Yet  none  of  their  nostrums  for  me ; 

For  I  firmly  believe — what  the  old  women  say 
That  there’s  nothing  like  camomile  tea ! 

“  In  health  it  is  harmless,  and,  say  what  you  please, 
One  thing  is  still  certain  with  me, 

It  suits  equally  well  with  every  disease, 

0,  there’s  nothing  like  camomile  tea. 

“  The  cancer  and  colic,  the  scurvy  and  gout, 

The  blues,  and  all  evils  cT esprit, 

When  once  fairly  lodged,  can  be  only  forced  out 
By  forcing  in  camomile  tea  !” 


208 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


The  laborious  professional  study  of  the  matriculated  physi¬ 
cian  is  unsought  by  the  quack  ;  lie, — Pallas-like,  all  armed 
from  the  brain  of  Jove, — rushes  into  his  reckless  practice,  “  en¬ 
cased  over  in  native  brass,  from  top  to  toe,”  but  wholly  desti¬ 
tute  of  the  requisite  skill  for  his  office.  ITe  knows  not  even 
the  alphabet  of  medicine  ;  yet,  defiant  of  reason  and  responsi¬ 
bility,  his  supposed  intuitive  wit  and  arrogance  prevail.  It 
has  been  said,  however,  with  truth,  that  the  followers  of  quacks 
are  the  cause  of  quackery ;  they  are  the  cause  of  the  number¬ 
less  homicides  that  have  been  committed  with  such  impunity. 
These  are  sceptics  of  the  faculty,  but  idolaters  of  empiricism. 
These  deluded  patients  persevere  with  a  pertinacity  that  is  in¬ 
vincible,  till  they  discover,  too  late,  that  they  have  been  advan¬ 
cing,  backwards.  As  illustrative  of  the  reckless  wickedness  of 
these  pseudo-doctors,  we  present  the  following  instances.  The 
Duke  de  Pohan,  while  in  Switzerland,  had  occasion  to  send  for 
a  physician  ;  the  most  famous  of  the  day  came  to  him,  styling 
himself  Monsieur  Thibaud.  “  Your  face,”  said  the  Duke, 
“  seems  familiar  to  me  ;  pray,  where  have  I  seen  you  before  ?  ” 
“  At  Paris,  perhaps,  my  Lord  Duke,”  he  replied,  “  when  I  had 
the  honor  to  be  farrier  to  your  grace’s  stables.  I  have  now  a 
great  reputation  as  a  physician;  I  treat  the  Swiss  as  I  used  to 
do  your  horses,  and  I  find,  in  general,  I  succeed  as  well.  I 
must  request  your  grace  not  to  make  me  known,  for  if  you  do, 
I  shall  be  ruined  !  ”  There  was  a  notorious  charlatan  at  Paris, 
some  years  ago,  named  Mantaccini,  who,  after  having  squan¬ 
dered  his  patrimony,  sought  to  retrieve  his  fortune  by  turning 
quack.  lie  started  his  carriage,  and  made  tours  round  the 
country,  pompously  professing  to  effect  cures  of  all  diseases 
with  a  single  touch,  or  even  a  look.  Failing  in  this  bold 
essay,  he  attempted  another  yet  more  daring — that  of  reviving 
the  dead,  at  will !  To  remove  all  doubt,  he  declared  that,  in 
fifteen  days,  he  would  go  to  the  church-yard,  and  restore  to  life 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICIXE. 


209 


* 


its  inhabitants,  though  buried  fifteen  years.  This  declaration 
excited  a  general  murmur  against  the  doctor,  who,  not  in  the 
least  disconcerted,  applied  to  the  magistrate,  and  requested 
that  he  might  be  put  under  a  guard  to  prevent  his  escape, 
until  he  should  perform  his  undertaking.  The  proposition 
inspired  the  greatest  confidence,  and  the  whole  city  came  to 
consult  the  daring  empiric,  and  purchase  his  baume  de  vie. 
His  consultations  were  numerous,  and  he  received  large  sums 
of  money.  At  length  the  noted  day  approached,  and  the  doc¬ 
tor’s  valet,  fearing  for  his  shoulders,  began  to  manifest  signs 
of  uneasiness.  “You  know  nothing  of  mankind,”  said  the 
quack  to  his  servant ;  “  be  quiet.”  Scarcely  had  he  spoken 
the  words,  when  the  following  letter  was  presented  to  him 
from  a  rich  citizen :  “  Sir,  the  great  operation  you  are  about  to 
perform  has  broken  my  rest.  I  have  a  wife  buried  for  some 
time  who  was  a  fury,  and  I  am  unhappy  enough  already,  with¬ 
out  her  resurrection.  In  the  name  of  heaven,  do  not  make  the 
experiment.  I  will  give  you  fifty  louis  to  keep  your  secret  to 
yourself.”  Soon  after,  two  dashing  beaux  arrived,  who  urged 
him  with  the  most  earnest  entreaties  not  to  raise  their  old 
father,  formerly  the  greatest  miser  in  the  city,  as  in  such  an 
event,  they  would  be  reduced  to  the  most  deplorable  indigence. 
They  offered  him  a  fee  of  sixty  louis  ;  but  the  doctor  shook  his 
head  in  doubtful  compliance.  Scarcely  had  they  retired,  when 
a  young  widow,  on  the  eve  of  matrimony,  threw  herself  at  the 
feet  of  the  quack,  and  with  sobs  and  sighs,  implored  his  mercy. 
In  short,  from  morn  till  night,  he  received  letters,  visits,  pre¬ 
sents,  and  fees,  to  an  excess  which  absolutely  overwhelmed 
him.  The  minds  of  the  citizens  were  differently  and  violently 
agitated ;  some  by  fear,  and  others  by  curiosity,  so  that  the 
mayor  of  the  city  waited  upon  the  doctor,  and  said :  “  Sir,  I 
have  not  the  least  doubt,  from  my  experience  of  your  rare 
talents,  that  you  will  be  able  to  accomplish  the  resurrection  in 
14 


210 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


our  church-yard,  the  day  after  to-morrow,  according  to  your 
promise ;  but  I  pray  you  to  observe  that  our  city  is  in  the 
utmost  uproar  and  confusion ;  and  to  consider  the  dreadful 
revolution  your  experiment  must  produce  in  every  family ;  I 
entreat  you,  therefore,  not  to  attempt  it,  but  to  go  away,  and 
thus  restore  tranquillity  to  the  city.  In  justice,  however,  to 
your  rare  talents,  I  shall  give  you  an  attestation,  in  due  form, 
under  our  seal,  that  you  can  revive  the  dead ,  and  that  it  was 
our  own  fault  that  we  were  not  eye-witnesses  of  your  power.” 
This  certificate,  our  reliable  authority  continues,  was  duly 
signed  and  delivered.  The  illustrious  Mantaccini  left  Lyons 
for  other  cities,  to  work  new  miracles  and  manoeuvres.  In  a 
short  time,  he  returned  to  Paris  loaded  with  gold,  laughing  at 
the  credulity  of  his  victims.  One  more  citation  of  this  kind. 
Count  Cagliostro  and  his  wife  made  their  debut  at  St.  Peters- 
burg,  pretending  to  a  power  of  conferring  perpetual  youth — 
investing  old  people  with  rejuvenescence.  The  countess,  who 
was  not  more  than  twenty,  spoke  of  her  son,  who  had  long 
served  in  the  army.  This  expedient  of  making  old  people 
young  again,  could  not  fail  to  affect  certain  aged  ladies,  who 
are  expert  in  diminishing  instead  of  adding  to  their  years. 
This  experiment  upon  popular  credulity  did  not,  however, 
last  long  ;  yet  it  yielded  a  golden  harvest  while  it  continued. 

It  is  related  of  a  certain  quack,  in  a  country  town  in  Eng¬ 
land,  that  he  resorted  to  the  following  expedient,  for  creating 
a  little  notoriety,  by  way  of  a  start.  On  his  arrival,  he  an¬ 
nounced  himself  by  sending  the  bell-man — an  official  of  great 
importance  in  former  times — to  disturb  the  quiet  of  the  honest 
people  of  the  place,  by  proclaiming  the  reward  of  fifty  guineas 
for  the  recovery  of  his  pet  poodle ;  of  course,  the  physician 
who  could  be  so  lavish  with  his  money  for  such  a  trifling  pur¬ 
pose,  could  not  but  be  a  man  of  preeminence  in  his  profession. 

. Milling en  records  the  curious  fact  of  two  miracle-working  doc- 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


211 


tors  having  taken  London  by  storm,  many  years  ago,  who  laid 
claim  to  the  unpronounceable  names  of  Tetrachymagogon  and 
Fellino  Guffino  Cardimo  Cardimac  Frames  (!),  which  were 
plastered  about  the  walls  of  the  city,  exciting  the  amazement 
and  curiosity  of  the  gullible  multitude. 

The  next  instance  we  have  to  introduce  to  our  friends  re¬ 
joiced  in  the  not  uncommon  name  of  Graham,  who,  in  the 
year  1782,  made  a  great  sensation  in  London.  He  was  gifted 
with  great  fluency  of  speech,  and  indulged  in  towering  hyper¬ 
bole  and  bombast,  with  which  he  sought  to  gull  the  wonder- 
loving  multitude.  He  opened  a  splendid  mansion  in  Pall-Mall, 
which  he  styled  the  “  Temple  of  Health.” 

Among  other  whimsicalities,  he,  too,  pretended  to  have  dis¬ 
covered  the  elixir  of  life.  His  terms  for  this  invaluable  spe¬ 
cific  for  longevity,  were,  it  is  true,  rather  extravagant  for 
common  people, — but,  of  course,  so  desirable  a  boon  ought  not 
to  be  made  too  cheap.  More  than  one  nobleman,  it  is  recorded, 
actually  paid  him  the  enormous  fee  of  one  thousand  pounds! 
Rather  an  expensive  premium  for  the  purchase  of  a  little  com¬ 
mon  sense.  This  wonderful  discovery,  however,  did  not  last 
long;  the  delusion  exploded, — the  quack  himself  died,  after 
vainly  practising  various  other  mummeries,  at  the  age  of  fifty- 
two  years — neglected,  and  despised. 

Among  notable  and  eccentric  physicians  of  former  times, 
was  Jerome  Cardan,  of  Milan,  who  flourished,  and  physicked 
the  valetudinarians  of  the  sixteenth  century.  His  life,  also, 
was  full  of  various  incidents.  After  enduring  the  extreme  of 
misfortune,  he  rose  to  the  height  of  professional  honor ;  lie 
was  battling  throughout  his  life,  both  with  men  and  with 
books  ;  so  we  need  not  wonder  that  he  became  notorious. 

His  name  has  been  placed  in  succession  to  that  of  Galen, 
who  was  the  great  authority,  when  he  made  his  professional 
appearance.  His  first  book  bore  the  title,  De  Malo  Medendi 


212 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


Usa — denouncing  seventy-two  errors  in  existing  practice ! 
Most  of  his  corrections,  have  been  re-corrected  by  his  suc¬ 
cessors.  Astrology  by  no  means  satisfied  his  thirst  for  divi¬ 
nation.  lie  had  a  system  of  Cheiromancy,  and  was  very  pro¬ 
found  on  the  lines  in  the  human  hand,  and  a  science  com¬ 
pletely  his  own,  which  he  called  Metojposcojpy.  The  following 
extract  will  show  that  the  character  and  fortunes  of  an  indi¬ 
vidual  are  thus  revealed  by  the  lines  in  his  forehead : 

“  Seven  lines,  drawn  at  equal  distances,  one  above  another, 
horizontally  across  the  whole  forehead,  beginning  close  over 
the  eyes,  indicate  respectively  the  regions  of  the  Moon,  Mer¬ 
cury,  Venus,  the  Sun,  Mars,  Jupiter,  and  Saturn.  The  signifi¬ 
cation  of  each  planet  is  always  the  same,  and  forehead-reading 
is  thus  philosophically  allied  to  the  science  of  palmistry.” 

Doctors  have,  by  some,  been  called  a  class  of  men  wdio  live 
on  the  misfortunes  of  their  fellow-creatures;  by  others,  the 
alleviators  of  life’s  miseries.  Illustrative  instances  of  both 
abound.  Doubtless,  many,  by  potions,  but  multitudes  by  pills 
have  been  sent  out  of  the  world,  sooner  than  they  need  have 
gone ;  and  yet,  at  this  moment,  what  a  pillage  is  going  on 
among  our  patients  and  valetudinarians  !  Who  has  not  heard 
of  that  triumvirate  of  pill-princes — Morrison,  Moffatt,  and 
Brandreth ;  not  to  refer  to  the  plebeian  pill-mongers  who 
prowl  about  all  places,  seeking  whom  they  may  betray ! 

One  of  the  most  notable  instances  on  record  of  pill  taking,  is 
the  following:  an  eccentric  old  bachelor,  named  Jessup,  who 
died  in  Lincolnshire,  in  1817,  had  such  an  inordinate  appetite 
for  pills,  that  his  apothecary  had  to  sue  him  at  law,  for  his  bill. 
At  the  trial  the  defendant  was  proved  to  have  taken  during 
twenty-one  years  (1791-1816),  no  less  than  226,934  pills ;  which 
is  at  the  rate  of  10,806  pills  a  year,  or  29  pills  each  day !  But 
as  the  patient  began  with  a  less  voracious  craving,  and  it  in¬ 
creased  as  he  proceeded,  in  the  last  five  years,  he  took  the  pills 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


213 


at  tlie  rate  of  78  a  day,  apd  in  the  year  1814,  he  swallowed  not  less 
than  51,590  !  Notwithstanding  this,  and  the  addition  of  40,000 
bottles  of  mixture,  this  pill-devourer  extraordinary  contrived 
to  live  to  sixty-five  years.  One  can  scarcely  swallow  the  story. 

One,  and  not  the  least  of  the  mysteries  of  medicine,  is  its 
technology ;  let  us  look  at  it :  for  it  is  a  puzzle  to  all  but  the 
initiated, — the  disciples  of  Aesculapius.  A  recent  writer*  re¬ 
marks  that  medical  lore  would  lose  much  of  its  potency  and 
control  over  the  faith  of  mankind,  were  its  dicta  uttered  in  the 
vulgar  tongue.  The  same  technical  and,  to  the  popular  mind, 
unintelligible  verbiage  is  no  less  applicable  to  most  of  the  sci¬ 
ences — botany,  chemistry,  astronomy ,  natural  history,  and  meta¬ 
physics,  not  to  mention  law.  “  A  fish-woman  was  silenced  by 
the  word  hypothenuse,  applied  as  an  epithet ;  and  many  persons 
who  would  have  no  objection  to  bleeding,  would  receive  a  pro¬ 
position  to  phlebotomize  them,  with  much  alarm.  The  language 
of  the  men  of  medicine  is  a  fearful  concoction  of  sesquipedalian 
words,  numbered  by  thousands.  He  was  a  mere  novice  who 
spoke  of  c  a  severe  contusion  of  the  integuments  under  the  left 
orbit,  with  great  extravasation  of  b'lood  and  ecchymosis  in  the 
surrounding  cellular  tissue,  which  was  in  a  “  tunefied  state  ;  ” 5 
— meaning  a  black  eye !  The  medical  authorities  describe,  for 
instance,  ‘  Blood  root  ’  {Sanguinaria  Canadensiis)  as  acrid, 
emetic,  with  narcotic  and  stimulant  properties,  expectorant, 
sudorific,  alterative,  emmenagogue,  escharotic,  and  errhine,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  way  in  which  it  is  used.  Its  escharotic  action 
renders  it  beneficial  when  applied  in  hypochondriasis.  Prickly 
ash  ( Xantlioxylum  Fraxineum)  is  stimulant,  tonic,  alterative, 
and  sialogogue,  producing  heat,  arterial  excitement,  and  a  ten¬ 
dency  to  diaphoresis.” 

Latin,  or  “  dog-latin,”  as  it  has  been  styled,  seems  to  be  as 
essential  an  accessory  to  the  profession  of  medicine,  as  to  that  of 

*  Putnam’s  Magazine. 


214 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


law.  So  long  as  mystery  lias  a  controlling  influence  over  the 
untutored  mind;  the  practitioners  in  both  these  departments 
of  professional  life,  will,  doubtless,  adhere  to  the  use  of  the  so- 
called  dead  language,  as  most  consistent  with  the  genius  of 
their  calling.  We  offer,  for  the  sake  of  change,  however,  a 
fugitive  prescription,  free  of  charge,  and  in  the  vulgar  tongue, 
— in  verse  moreover :  a  poetical  prescription  to  be  taken,  if  re¬ 
quired  : 

“  Take,  take,  pill  and  colocynth; 

Aye,  sir,  your  liver  is  much  out  of  order ; 

Take,  take,  rhubarb  and  ague  menth  ; 

Close  on  acute  inflammation  you  border. 

Symptoms  about  your  head, 

Makes  me  congestion  dread, 

When  I  take  them  with  the  rest  in  conjunction  ; 

Leave  off  wine,  beer,  and  grog ; 

Arrowroot  all  your  prog, 

Let  organs  rest  to  recover  their  function.” 

“  Doctor,  what  do  you  think  is  the  cause  of  this  frequent 
rush  of  blood  to  my  head  ? 55  asked  a  patient,  “  O,  it  is  nothing 
but  an  effort  of  nature,55  was  the  reply ;  “  nature,  you  know, 
abhors  a  vacuum.55 

In  the  times  of  the  renowned  Radcliffe,  the  gold-headed 
cane  was  the  sceptre  of  authority,  among  the  medical  profes¬ 
sion.  Dignity  dwelt  in  that  mysterious  symbol,  and  safeguard, 
— for  such  it  was.  It  served  the  doublb  purpose  of  imparting 
dignity  to  the  doctor,  and  as  a  protector  against  contagious 
diseases,  it  being  filled  with  disinfecting  herbs,  which  he  ap¬ 
plied  to  his  olfactories  when  with  patients.  A  good  joke  is  re¬ 
lated  of  him  and  his  next  door  neighbor. 

Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  and  Dr.  Rad  cliff e  lived  next  door  to 
each  other,  in  Bow  street,  London.  Kneller  had  a  fine  garden, 
and  as  the  parties  were  intimate  friends,  and  the  doctor  was 
fond  of  flowers,  the  other  consented  to  his  having  a  door  into 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


215 


it.  Some  of  the  doctor’s  servants,  however,  destroyed  the 
flowers,  and  Sir  Godfrev  sent  word  to  him,  that  he  would  nail 
up  the  door  ;  to  which  Badcliffe  responded  thus,  “  Tell  him  he 
may  do  anything  but  paint  it.”  “  Well,”  retorted  Kneller,  “  he 
may  say  what  he  will,  for  I  will  take  anything  from  him  ex¬ 
cept  physic !  ”  Another  good  story  is  told  of  Badcliffe :  he 
attended  a  friend  professionally  for  a  year  gratuitously,  al¬ 
though  the  accustomed  fee  was  uniformly  tendered,  when  he 
called.  On  his  last  visit  his  friend  said,  “  Doctor,  here  is  a 
purse  in  which  I  have  put  every  day’s  fee  ;  and  your  goodness 
must  not  get  the  better  of  my  gratitude.  Take  your  money.” 
Badcliffe  was  not  proof  against  the  temptation  ;  so  he  said, — 
“  Singly,  sir,  I  could  have  refused  them  for  a  twelvemonth ; 
but  altogether,  they  are  irresistible.” 

When  the  celebrated  Dumoulin  was  on  his  death-bed,  and 
some  of  the  most  eminent  physicians  of  Paris  were  bemoaning 
his.  expected  loss  to  the  profession,  he  said, — “  Gentlemen,  I 
shall  leave  behind  me  three  excellent  doctors  to  supply  my  ab¬ 
sence.”  Being  pressed  to  name  them,  as  each  expected  to  be 
included  in  the  trio,  he  answered, — “  Water,  Exercise, and  Diet” 
Whether  we  think  of  it,  or  not,  the  weather  has  not  a  little 
to  do  with  the  doctors.  We  often  say, — “  It  is  an  ill  wind  that 
blows  nobody  any  good ;  ”  and  that  means,  we  suppose,  an 
east-wind.  Dr.  Alexander,  of  Princeton,  was  once  asked,  if 
he  enjoyed  “  assurance  of  faith  \  ”  “  Yes,”  he  replied,  “  except 

when  the  wind  is  in  the  east !  ” 

We  found  recently  a  doctor’s  reflections  on  this  airy  subject, 
and  the  direct  bearings  it  has  upon  his  practice : 

“  III  is  the  wind,  good,  that  no  one  doth  blow, 

Taking  mankind  altogether ; 

Hail  to  that  wind  which  blows  hard  frost  and  snow, 
Medico-surgical  weather ! 

Prospects  of  many  a  bill  and  a  fee, 

Suscitate  pleasing  reflections ; 


216  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 

Ills  blown  to  others,  are  good  blown  to  me, 
Namely,  thoracic  affections ; 

Air-tubes,  disorders  of ;  also,  catarrh, 

Cough,  influenza,  bronchitis. 
Peripneumonia’s  gainful ;  so  are 
Phthisis,  dyspnoea,  pleuritis. 

Numerous  patients,  moreover,  accrue, 

Just  now,  from  those  inflammations, 
Which,  a  peculiar  diathesis  through, 

Seize  on  the  articulations, 

Nerves, muscles,  tendons ;  rheumatic  attacks, 
Cases,  no  end,  of  lumbago, 

And  of  the  hip  that  sciatica  racks ; 

Down  in  my  visit-book  they  go.” 


For  the  sake  of  variety,  we  will  glance  at  some  comical 
patients,  the  victims  of  mental  illusion,  hypochondria,  phan¬ 
tasm,  and  monomania.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  inquire  into 
the  physical  causes  to  which  usually  these  maladies  are  to  he 
ascribed  ;  we  cite  a  case,  from  the  numerous  instances  recorded 
by  Dr.  Hush,  of  mental  derangement,  and  for  the  accuracy  of 
which  he  vouches.  It  was  of  an  unfortunate  individual  who 
was  possessed  with  the  strange  conceit  that  he  was  once  a 
calf ;  the  name  of  the  butcher  that  killed  him  being  given,  who 
kept  a  stall  in  Philadelphia  market,  at  which  place  was  sold, 
without  his  leave  or  license,  his  bodily  right  and  title,  previous 
to  his  inhabiting  his  present  “fleshly  tabernacle.”  We  do  not 
venture  into  the  region  of  spectral  illusions,  or  ghosts,  but  we 
may  mention,  in  passing,  the  case  of  a  crazy  young  lady,  re¬ 
corded  by  Dr.  Ferriar,  who  fancied  herself  accompanied  by 
her  own  apparition,  and  who  may,  of  course,  therefore,  justly 
be  said  to  have  been,  indeed,  often — beside  herself.  A  Lusi- 
tanian  physician  had  a  patient  who  insisted  that  he  was  en¬ 
tirely  frozen,  so  that  he  would  sit  before  a  large  fire,  even  dur¬ 
ing  the  dog-days,  and  yet  cry  of  cold.  A  dress  of  rough  sheep- 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


217 


skins,  saturated  with  aqua  vitae,  was  made  for  him,  and  they 
set  him  on  fire ;  he  then  confessed  that  he  was,  for  the  first 
time,  quite  warm — rather  too  much  so ;  and  thus  this  genial 
remedy  cured  him  of  his  frigidity  altogether. 

The  following  ludicrous  story  is  told  in  the  London  Lancet : 
“  While  residing  at  Rome,”  says  the  narrator,  44  I  paid  a  visit 
to  the  lunatic  asylum  there,  and  among  the  remarkable  patients 
was  one,  pointed  out  to  me,  who  had  been  saved,  with  much 
difficulty,  from  inflicting  death  upon  himself  by  voluntary 
starvation  in  bed,  under  an  impression  that  he  was  defunct, 
declaring  that  dead  people  never  eat.  It  was  soon  obvious  to 
all,  that  the  issue  must  be  fatal,  when  the  humane  doctor  be¬ 
thought  of  the  following  stratagem :  Ilalf-a-dozen  of  the 
attendants,  dressed  in  white  shrouds,  and  their  faces  and  hands 
covered  with  chalk,  were  marched  in  single  file,  with  dead 
silence,  into  a  room  adjoining  that  of  the  patient,  where  he 
observed  them,  through  a  door  purposely  left  open,  sit  down 
to  a  hearty  meal.  4  Hallo  ! 5  said  he,  that  was  deceased,  pres¬ 
ently  to  an  attendant ;  4  who  be  they  \ ’  4  Dead  men,’  was 

the  reply.  4  What !  ’  rejoined  the  corpse,  4  dead  men  eat  ?  ’ 
4  To  be  sure  they  do,  as  you  see,’  answered  the  attendant. 
4  If  that’s  the  case!’  exclaimed  the  defunct,  4  I'll  join  them, 
for  I’m  famished  ;  ’  and  thus  instantly  was  the  spell  broken.” 

A  young  man  had  a  strange  conceit  that  he  tvas  dead,  and 
earnestly  begged  his  friends  to  bury  him.  They  consented  by 
the  advice  of  the  physician.  lie  was  laid  upon  a  bier,  and  car¬ 
ried  upon  the  shoulders  of  men  to  church,  when  some  pleasant 
fellows,  up  to  thf  joke ,  met  the  procession,  and  inquired  who 
it  was  ;  they  answered :  44  And  a  very  good  job  it  is,”  said  one 
of  them,  44  for  the  world  is  well  rid  of  a  very  bad  and  vicious 
character,  which  the  gallows  must  have  had  in  due  course.”  The 
pseudo-dead  young  man,  hearing  this,  popped  his  head  up, 
and  said,  they  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves  in  thus  tra- 


218  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 

ducing  liis  fair  fame,  and  if  he  were  only  alive,  he  would  thrash 
them  for  their  insolence.  But  they  proceeded  to  utter  the 
most  disgraceful  and  reproachful  language, — dead  flesh  and 
blood  could  no  longer  bear  it ;  up  he  jumps,  they  run,  he  after 
them,  until  he  fell  down  quite  exhausted.  He  was  put  to  bed ; 
the  violent  exertion  he  had  gone  through  promoted  perspira¬ 
tion,  and  he  got  well. 

It  is  pertinent  to  our  subject  to  refer,  perhaps,  to  the  anal¬ 
ogy  and  reciprocal  influence  of  the  body  and  soul — mind  and 
matter.  That  such  analogy  exists,  and  exhibits  itself  in  a  most 
indubitable  manner,  exerting  a  most  powerful  sympathy,  none, 
of  course,  will  question ;  were  it  otherwise,  a  matter  in  dis¬ 
pute,  we  might  offer  many  suggestions  proposed  by  various  phy¬ 
sicians  and  metaphysicians  ;  but  we  shall  content  ourselves  by 
simply  quoting  a  passage  on  the  subject,  from  Ilaslam,  in  his 
work  on  Sound  Mind.  Referring  to  these  curious  analogies, 
he  says :  “  There  seems  to  be  a  considerable  similarity  between 
the  morbid  state  of  the  instruments  of  voluntary  motion  (i.  e., 
the  body),  and  certain  affections  of  the  mental  powers.  Thus, 
paralysis  has  its  counterpart  in  the  defects  of  recollection, 
where  the  utmost  endeavor  to  remember  is  ineffectually  ex¬ 
erted.  Tremor  may  be  compared  with  incapability  of  fixing 
the  attention ;  and  this  involuntary  state  of  the  muscles,  ordi¬ 
narily  subjected  to  the  will,  also  finds  a  parallel  where  the 
mind  loses  its  influence  in  the  train  of  thought,  and  becomes 
subject  to  spontaneous  intrusions ;  as  may  be  exemplified  in 
reveries,  dreaming,  and  some  species  of  madness.”  Excessive 
irritation  of  the  brain  is  the  result  of  inordinate  mental  excite¬ 
ment  ;  the  physical  economy  thus  becomes  deranged,  and  this 
condition  of  bodily  disease  again  reacts  prejudicially  on  the 
mental  powers.  These  effects  are  more  or  less  observable 
under  different  conditions,  much  depending  on  organic  struc¬ 
ture,  constitutional  predisposition,  climate,  or  the  peculiar  cir- 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


219 


cumstances  by  which  the  individual  may  be  surrounded. 
While  the  effects,  however,  of  this  reciprocal  influence  of  mind 
and  matter  are  apparent,  the  cause  remains  unrevealed ;  and 
to  this  fact  may  be  referred  the  many  ludicrous  blunders  and 
wild  imaginings  of  sundry  wise-acres,  who  have  sought  to  ac¬ 
count  for  a  matter  so  occult.  So  inscrutable  and  all-pervading 
is  this  union  and  sympathy  between  the  “fleshly  tabernacle  ” 
and  its  noble  occupant,  that  in  essaying  to  address  any  part  of 
the  fabric,  the  dweller  is  inevitably  found  to  respond  to  the 
appeal.  Physiologists  tell  us  that  our  imagination  is  freest 
when  the  stomach  is  but  slightly  replenished  with  food ;  it  is 
also  more  healthful  in  spring  than  in  winter ;  in  solitude  than 
in  company ;  and  in  modulated  light,  rather  than  in  the  full 
blaze  of  the  noonday  sun.  Climate  affects  the  temper,  because 
it  first  influences  the  muscular  system  and  the  animal  solids ; 
and  who  does  not  know  that  our  happiness  and  repose  are  de¬ 
pendent  upon  the  well-balanced  condition  of  the  biliary  sys¬ 
tem.  In  such  cases,  it  is  the  province  of  medicine  to  rectify 
the  moral,  as  well  as  the  physical  derangement  at  the  same 
moment  of  time.  An  eminent  physician  at  Leyden,  Dr.  Gau- 
bius,  who  styled  himself  “  Professor  of  the  Passions,”  recites  a 
curious  case  of  a  woman,  upon  whom  he  repeatedly  enacted 
venesection,  being  of  an  inflammable  temperament,  as  avouched 
by  her  liege-lord  ;  which  operation,  he  says,  finally  induced  the 
happiest  results.  This  notable  practitioner  was  as  au  fait  at 
metaphysics  as  medicine ;  he  cured  morals  and  manners,  as 
well  as  maladies  of  the  body.  Dryden  confessed  his  indebted¬ 
ness  to  cathartics  for  the  propitiating  of  his  muse  ;  his  imagin¬ 
ative  faculty  being  thus  dependent,  as  he  thought,  upon  the 
elasticity  of  his  viscera.  And  as  we  before  intimated,  there 
are,  unquestionably,  constitutional  moral  disorders — such  as 
temporary  or  periodical  fits  of  passion,  or  melancholy,  as  well 
as  other  impulsive  emotions  \  these,  for  the  most  part,  are  in- 


220 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


voluntary,  or  easily  provoked  under  certain  exciting  circum¬ 
stances.  A  moral  patient,  who  suffers  himself  to  become  the 
wretched  victim  of  intemperance,  is  sure  to  need  only  opiates ; 
and  nature,  in  due  time,  recovers  from  the  outrage,  although 
he  may  not  from  the  disgrace.  And  when  some  pitiable  wight 
is  found  suffering  from  the  master-passion,  love  (a  perfect  ty¬ 
rant  in  its  way,  which  usually  overturns  all  a  man’s  common 
sense,  and  blinds  him  into  the  bargain),  the  unfortunate  one 
is  sure  to  come  “  right  side  up,”  in  his  sober  senses,  too,  by  ad¬ 
ministering  the  process  of  a  cold  bath  in  the  river,  provided 
some  benevolent  bystander  rescue  him  in  time  to  cheat  the 
fishes.  A  certain  Milanese  doctor  is  said  to  have  resorted  to  a 
similar  expedient  for  the  cure  of  madness  and  other  distempers. 
His  practice  consisted  in  placing  his  patients  in  a  great  high- 
walled  enclosure,  in  the  midst  of  which  there  was  a  deep  well 
of  water,  as  cold  as  ice,  into  which  his  unfortunate  victims 
were  plunged,  being  secured  to  a  pillar ;  when  they  were 
thoroughly  saturated,  and  their  courage  cooled,  they  were  liber¬ 
ated.  In  their  bodily  fear  and  shock  they  generally  got  rid  of 
their  complaints.  That  was  a  cold  water  cure ! 

The  effects  of  the  imagination  upon  bodily  health  are  al¬ 
ready  familiar  to  the  reader. 

Bouchet,  a  French  author  of  the  sixteenth  century,  states 
that  the  physicians  at  Montpelier,  which  was  the  great  school 
of  medicine,  had  every  year  two  criminals,  the  one  living,  the 
other  dead,  delivered  to  them  for  dissection.  lie  relates  that 
on  one  occasion  they  tried  what  effect  the  mere  expectation  of 
death  would  produce  upon  a  subject  in  perfect  health,  and  in 
order  to  these  experiments,  they  told  the  gentleman  (for  such 
was  his  rank),  who  was  placed  at  their  discretion,  that,  as  the 
easiest  mode  of  taking  away  his  life,  they  would  employ  the 
means  which  Seneca  had  chosen  for  himself,  and  would  there¬ 
fore  open  his  veins  in  warm  water.  Accordingly,  they  covered 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


221 


his  face,  pinched  his  feet  without  lancing  them,  and  set  them 
in  a  footbath,  and  then  spoke  to  each  other  as  if  they  saw  blood 
flowing  freely,  and  life  departing  with  it.  Then  the  man  re¬ 
mained  motionless ;  and  when,  after  awhile,  they  uncovered 
his  face,  they  found  him  dead. 

Hope  and  success  are  finer  tonics  than  any  to  be  found  in 
the  apothecaries’  shops,  and  even  fear  may  boast  its  cures.  A 
German  physician,  so  reads  the  tale,  succeeded  in  curing  an 
epidemic  convulsion,  among  the  children  of  a  poor-house,  by 
the  fear  of  a  red-hot  poker.  The  fits  had  spread  by  sympathy 
and  imitation ;  and  this  great  physician,  mistrusting  the  ordi¬ 
nary  remedies  in  so  grave  a  case,  heated  his  instrument,  and 
threatened  to  burn  the  first  who  should  fall  into  a  fit.  The 
convulsions  did  not  return. 

A  celebrated  scholar  was  once  attacked  with  fever  at  a  coun¬ 
try  inn.  lie  was  visited  by  two  physicians  ;  and  one  of  them, 
supposing  from  the  poverty  of  his  appearance  that  he  would 
not  understand  a  foreign  language,  said  to  the  other  in  Latin, 
“  Let’s  try  an  experiment  on  this  poor  fellow.”  As  soon  as 
they  were  gone,  the  patient  got  out  of  bed,  hurried  on  his 
clothes,  scampered  off  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  was  cured  of  his 
fever  by  his  fright. 

In  England,  some  years  ago,  a  girl,  being  attacked  with  ty¬ 
phus  fever,  was  sent  to  the  hospital.  A  week  afterwards,  her 
brother  was  seized  with  the  same  disease,  and  was  sent  to  the 
same  institution.  The  nurses  were  helping  him  up  the  stairs 
at  the  hospital.  On  the  way,  he  was  met  by  some  persons  who 
were  descending  with  a  coffin  on  their  shoulders.  The  sick 
man  inquired  whose  body  they  were  removing,  when  one  of 
the  bearers  inadvertently  mentioned  the  girl’s  name.  It  was 
his  sister.  The  brother,  horror-struck,  sprang  from  his  con¬ 
ductors,  dashed  down  stairs,  out  of  the  hospital  gate,  and  never 
stopped  running  until  he  had  reached  home — a  distance  of 


222 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


twelve  miles  !  He  flung  liimself  on  the  bed  immediately,  fell 
into  a  sound  sleep,  and  awoke  next  morning,  entirely  cured  of 
his  illness. 

0 

Solomon  tells  us  that  “  a  merry  heart  doeth  good,  like  a 
medicine,”  and  experience  has  proved  it  to  be  a  panacea  for 
many  minor  ills.  Hot  a  few  of  the  Faculty  are  aware  of  the 
fact,  and  hence  they  have  achieved  marvellous  cures  by  their 
combination  of  puns,  potions,  and  pills. 

Among  our  various  maladies,  apparently  midway  between 
the  mental  and  physical  is  the  headache — a  malady  by  no 
means  uncommon,  but  which  we  welcome  none  the  more  from 
its  frequency.  Like  a  cold  in  the  head,  it  is  no  joke,  yet  some 
wag  has  had  the  temerity  to  treat  it  as  one,  in  the  following 
lyric  lines : 

‘  ‘  A  cold  in  the  head  ! 

What  need  be  said 
Uglier,  stupider,  more  ill-bred  : 

Almost  any  other  disease 
May  be  romantic,  if  you  please  ; 

But  who  can  scoff 
At  a  very  bad  cough  ? 

If  you  have  a  fever,  you’re  laid  on  the  shelf, 

To  be  sure— but  then  you  pity  yourself, 

And  your  friends’  anxiety  highly  excited, 

The  curtains  are  drawn,  and  the  chamber  lighted, 

Dimly,  and  softly,  pleasanter  far, 

Than  the  staring  sunshine  that  seems  to  jar 
Every  nerve  into  a  separate  knock, 

And  all  at  her  mortal  calamities  mock. 
****** 

Who  do  you  suppose 

Ever  pitied  a  man  for  blowing  his  nose  ? 

Yet,  what  minor  trial  could  ever  be  worse — 

Unless  it  be  reading  this  blundering  verse, 

Never  fit  to  be  written,  or  read  ; 

No — nor  said, 

Except  by  a  man — with  a  cold  in  his  head  !  ” 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


223 


Among  the  long  list  of  cases  in  the  Materia  Medica,  here  is 
a  new  and  fatal  one.  During  the  prevalence  of  the  cholera  in 
Ireland,  a  soldier,  hurrying  into  the  mess-room,  told  his  com¬ 
manding  officer  that  his  brother  had  been  carried  off,  two  days 
ago,  by  a  fatal  malady,  expressing  his  apprehensions  that  the 
whole  regiment  would  be  exposed  to  a  similar  danger,  in  the 
course  of  the  following  week.  “  Good  heavens !  ”  ejaculated 
the  officer,  “what,  then,  did  he  die  of?  ”  “  Why,  your  honor, 

he  died  of  a  Tuesday.”  Another  extraordinary  case,  chroni¬ 
cled  by  Punch ,  was  that  of  a  voracious  individual  who  bolted 
a  door,  and  threw  up  a  window  ! 

Many  of  the  phenomena  presented  by  disease  are  exceeding¬ 
ly  curious,  and  even  romantic.  The  disease,  commonly  known 
as  St.  Vitus’  dance  (chorea),  presents  some  remarkable  pheno¬ 
mena.  The  patient  becomes  a  merry  Andrew,  and  twists  the 
face  into  all  kinds  of  ridiculous  forms.  A  case  is  mentioned 
in  which  a  young  woman  would  dance  on  one  leg  and  hold  the 
other  in  her  hand.  When  a  drum  sounded  a  kind  of  air,  she 
would  dance  up  to  the  drum  and  continue  dancing  till  out  of 
breath.  Another  would  leap,  exactly  as  a  fish  might  do,  from 
the  top  of  a  wardrobe  five  feet  high.  Another  patient,  a  little 
girl,  would  twirl  round  on  her  feet  like  a  top.  And  yet  an¬ 
other  would  walk  backwards,  thereby  receiving  many  falls 
and  bruises.  “Such  histories,”  says  Sir  Thomas  Watson, 
“  would  sound  very  like  romances,  if  they  were  met  with  in  the 
old  authors  alone,  or  if  they  were  not  attested  by  unimpeach¬ 
able  authority.”  Such  diseases  are  morbid  affections  of  the 
nerves,  and  are  well  called  “  the  dark  corners  of  pathology.” 
The  whole  subject  of  the  influence  of  the  nervous  system  on 
the  organic  functions  is  replete  with  curious  memorabilia. 

Dr.  Brown,  of  Edinburgh,  author  of  the  “  Ilorac  Subsecivce ,” 
informs  us,  that  “  many  years  ago  a  countryman  called  on  a 
physician  in  Hew  York.  He  was  in  the  depth  of  dyspeptic 


224 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICIXE. 


despair.  The  doctor  gave  him  some  plain  advice  as  to  his  food, 
and  ended  by  writing  a  prescription  for  some  tonic,  saying, 
‘  Take  that  and  come  back  in  a  fortnight.5  In  ten  days  Giles 
came  in,  blooming  and  happy,  quite  well.  The  doctor  was 
delighted,  and  not  a  little  proud  of  his  skill.  He  asked  to  see 
what  he  had  given  him.  Giles  said  he  hadn’t  got  it.  6  Where 
was  it  ? 5  ‘  I  took  it,  sir.’  4  Took  it !  What  have  you  done 

with  the  prescription?’  ‘I  ate  it,  sir.  You' told  me  to  take 
it.’ 55 

It  is  curious  that  a  doctor  cannot  always  be  trusted  with  the 
diagnosis  and  prognosis  of  his  own  case.  The  great  Dr.  Baillie 
seems  to  have  been  a  case  of  this  kind.  He  is  said  to  have 
died  of  consumption,  and  yet  to  have  denied  that  he  was  con¬ 
sumptive.  He  did  not  experience  any  difficulty  in  breathing, 
and  argued  that,  while  his  breathing  was  good,  his  lungs  could 
not  be  bad.  But  no  medical  man  now  takes  this  as  decisive. 
Nature,  in  her  bounty,  provides  a  larger  space  of  lung  than  is 
necessary,  and  will  long  go  on  with  a  very  small  amount  of 
lung,  and  with  very  little  difficulty  in  breathing.  Another 
noteworthy  case  of  lung  disease  is  a  very  different  person,  the 
notorious  empiric,  St.  John  Long.  He  professed  to  cure  con¬ 
sumption,  but  in  reality,  like  other  similar  quacks,  he  only 
cured  cases  of  cough  and  bronchitis  with  symptoms  imitative 
of  those  in  phthisis.  He  unquestionably  caused  death  in  sev¬ 
eral  instances  by  a  treatment  which  would  be  perfectly  harm¬ 
less  in  some  cases,  but  which  was  fatal  to  many  delicate 
women.  He  was  himself  struck  down  by  consumption,  and 
.  died  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-seven.  One  of  our  most  promis¬ 
ing  doctors  in  chest  complaints,  Dr.  Hope,  who,  at  an  early 
age,  had  reached  almost  the  summit  of  his  profession,  was 
prematurely  cut  off  by  consumption. 

Medicine  has  often  very  startling  surprises  in  store,  which 
are  frequently  gloomy  enough,  though  sometimes  of  a  pleasant 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


225 


nature.  We  will,  in  tlie  first  place,  select  some  of  the  former. 
A  clergyman  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mount  Edgecumbe  was 

Ot/  O  o 

one  dav  walking  very  fast,  when  he  was  met  bv  his  doctor. 
He  explained,  in  conversation,  that  he  was  suffering  from  pains 
of  indigestion,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  long  walks  in 
order  to  get  rid  of  them.  The  medical  man  insisted  on 
examining  him,  and  then  explained  to  him  that  he  was  in  fact 
suffering  from  aneurism  of  the  heart,  and  that  these  long  walks 
were  the  worst  things  possible  for  him  ;  and  was  obliged  to  add 
that  the  disease  would  some  day  prove  suddenly  fatal.  The 
statement  was  sadly  verified.  He  died  suddenly  while  preach¬ 
ing  in  church.  A  young  nobleman  in  the  country  was  danger- 
ously  ill  with  a  fever.  Physicians  were  summoned  from  differ¬ 
ent  quarters,  and  the  bishop  relates  that  no  less  a  sum  than 
seven  hundred  guineas  was  paid  to  them  as  fees.  All  the 
means  used  were  unavailing,  and  the  patient  sank  rapidly. 
When  he  was  quite  given  over,  and  left  alone  to  die,  he  was 
heard  to  murmur  a  request  for  beer.  A  large  goblet,  contain¬ 
ing  nearly  a  quart  of  small  beer,  was  handed  to  him,  which  he 
drained  at  a  draught,  and  then  drank  again.  He  recovered. 

Burney,  in  his  History  of  Music ,  refers  to  the  case  of  a  lady 
who  could  hear  only  while  a  drum  was  heating  ’  insomuch 
that  her  husband  actually  hired  a  drummer,  as  a  servant,  in 
order  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  her  conversation.  A  certain 
Frenchman,  Vigneul  de  Marville,  insists  that  musical  sounds 
contribute  to  the  health  of  the  bodv  and  the  mind,  assist  the 
circulation  of  the  blood,  dissipate  vapors,  and  open  the  vessels, 
so  that  the  action  of  perspiration  is  freer.  He  tells  a  story  of 
a  person  of  distinction,  who  assured  him,  that  once,  being  sud¬ 
denly  seized  by  violent  illness,  instead  of  a  consultation  of  phy¬ 
sicians,  he  immediately  called  a  band  of  musicians,  and  their 
violins  played  so  well  in  his  inside,  “  that  his  viscera  became 
perfectly  in  tune ,  and  in  a  few  hours  were  completely  be¬ 
ta 


226 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


calmed.5’  Naturalists  assert  that  animals  are  sensible  to  the 
charms  of  the  divine  art ;  why  not  the  biped,  man  ?  The  well- 
known  line  will  occur  to  the  reader, 

“  Music  hath,  charms  to  soothe  the  savage  breast ;  ” 

and  the  great  dramatist  predicates  moral  delinquency  where 
the  effect  of  its  dulcet  influence  is  not  acknowledged — 

“  The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 

Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 

Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils.” 

A  little  plaintive,  soothing  melody  after  dinner  has  long 
been  resorted  to  as  an  auxiliary  to  the  digestive  process ;  the 
effect  is  to  induce  a  temporary  state  of  mental  quiescence  and 
repose,  while  it  confers  all  the  advantages  of  sleep  with  none 
of  its  disadvantages.  It  is  “  putting  the  soul  in  tune,”  as  Milton 
expresses  it,  for  any  subsequent  exertion. 

We  have  an  instance  on  record  of  David  in  his  youth,  with 
his  harp,  striving  by  the  aid  of  music  to  cure  the  mental  de¬ 
rangement  of  Saul ;  a  method  of  cure  in  those  early  times 
which  seems  to  have  been  commonly  resorted  to.  Many  of  the 
classic  writers  allude  to  the  practice ;  some  even  proposing  it 
as  a  certain  remedy  for  a  dislocated  limb,  the  gout,  or  even  the 
bite  of  a  viper.  The  medicinal  properties  of  music  were  mani¬ 
fold  and  marvellous.  For  example :  a  fever  was  removed  by  a 
song ;  deafness,  by  a  trumpet ;  and  the  pestilence  chased  away 
by  the  harmonious  lyre  !  That  deaf  people  can  hear  best  in  a 
great  noise,  is  a  fact  alleged  by  some  moderns  in  favor  of  the 
ancient  mode  of  removing  deafness  by  the  trumpet. 

Medical  lore  would  not  probably  have  been  so  far  behind  the 
other  sciences,  had  its  professors  but  husbanded,  in  a  collect¬ 
ive  form,  the  experience  of  the  past,  as  has  been  the  case  in 
most  of  the  other  sciences.  To  begin  with  Galen,  as  a  starting 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


227 


point,  it  will  be  sufficient  to  remark,  that  lie  reprobated  such 
prescriptions  as  were  composed  of  any  portions  of  the  human 
body ;  and  he  severely  condemned  Xenocrates  for  having  in¬ 
troduced  them,  as  being  worse  than  useless,  as  well  as  positive¬ 
ly  unjustifiable.  Yet  these  abominable  ingredients  continued 
in  use  till,  what  may  be  styled,  the  reformation  of  medicine, 
in  the  seventeenth  century.  Human  bones  were  administered 
internally  as  a  cure  for  ulcers,  and  the  bones  were  to  be  those 
of  the  part  affected. 

The  mummery  of  medicine,  with  all  its  cabalistic  and 
unintelligible  mysticisms,  formed  a  part  of  the  age  which 
sanctioned  such  buffoonery.  The  state  of  medicine  may  be 
considered  as  the  criterion  or  barometer  of  the  state  of  morals, 
as  well  as  science,  in  a  nation.  This  is  evidenced  by  the  igno¬ 
rance  and  degradation  of  Europe  so  late,  even  as  the  tenth 
century,  when  there  was  scarcely  a  physician  in  Spain. 

Great  was  Diana  of  the  Ephesians,  and  we  follow  suit,  for, 
great  are  we  in  our  credulity,  great  in  our  manifold  sufferings, 
great  in  our  multitudinous  quacks,  great  in  the  princely  for¬ 
tunes  we  bestow  upon  those  vampires  who  batten  upon  disease 
and  sorrow.  Take  up  the  first  newspaper  that  comes  to  hand ; 
look  over  the  advertisements  entitled  Medical ;  is  there  not  a 
panacea  for  every  disability — consumption,  dyspepsia,  in  short, 
everything  that  can  make  up  the  total  of  human  wretchedness 
or  human  infirmity  ?  How  wonderful  that  death  is  still  the 
great  iconoclast,  in  spite  of  potions,  ointments,  and  drops ;  in 
spite  of  pills  that  are  infallible,  in  spite  of  philanthropists  who 
profess  to  eradicate  all  the  “  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,”  and  others 
that  never  existed. 

Yet,  after  all  the  empiricism  that  belongs  to  medicine,  or 
that  is  too  often  associated  with  it,  there  is  yet  very  much  in  it 
that  demands  our  respect.  It  is  no  evidence  to  the  contrary, 
moreover,  that  the  best  practitioners  give  to  their  patients  the 


228 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


least  medicine.  Many  persons  say  they  do  not  believe  in  medi¬ 
cine,  yet,  like  sceptics  in  religion,  they  usually  are  eager  enough 
to  seek  the  aid  they  can  render,  in  the  sick  or  dying  hour.  To 
speak  with  precision,  medicine  is  an  art  that  involves  the  ap¬ 
plication  of  many  sciences  ;  and  while  it  is  true  that  the  physi¬ 
cian  may  be,  or  ought  to  be,  master  of  the  situation,  when  he 
prescribes  for  his  patient ;  that  is  no  reason  for  paying  to  him 
a  blind  superstitious  reverence,  as  if  he  were  supernaturally 
endowed. 

If  Hippocrates  be  regarded  as  the  father  of  physic,  science 
was  then  in  its  infancy,  and  it  is  to  the  collective  wisdom  and 
experience  of  his  successors  that  it  owes  all  its  present  glory 
and  renown. 

In  justice  to  the  many  illustrious  benefactors  of  their  age, 
we  must  not  forget  that,  although  the  profession  has  been  dis¬ 
graced  by  empirics  and  quacks,  a  host  of  great  names  have 
ennobled  it  by  their  virtues,  their  brilliant  attainments  and 
services,  as  well  as  their  self-denial.  Such  men  have  been 
indeed  blessings  to  their  age,  and  to  the  world  at  large;  and 
the  fragrant  memory  of  their  benevolence  and  skill,  would,  of 
course,  go  far  to  redeem  the  profession  they  ennobled,  from  the 
rebuke  of  charlatanism.  It  is  to  such  men  as  Ilarvey,  Garth, 
Badcliffe,  Meade,  Askew,  Pitcairn,  Baillie,  Cullen,  Freind, 
Linacre,  Cains,  ITunterr  Denman,  Velpeau,  Liston,  Mott,  and 
Brocklesby,  the  friend  of  Johnson,  with  many  others  of  refined 
literary  attainments,  that  it  owes  much  of  its  glory. 

Pope,  a  few  days  prior  to  his  decease,  records  the  following 
high  testimony  to  the  urbanity  and  courtesy  of  his  medical 
friends, — “  There  is  no  end  of  my  kind  treatment  from  the 
Faculty;  they  are  in  general  the  most  amiable  companions, 
and  the  best  friends,  as  well  as  the  most  learned  men  I  know.” 
And  Dryden,  in  the  postscript  to  his  translation  of  Virgil, 
speaks  in  a  similar  way  of  the  profession.  “  That  I  have 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


229 


recovered,”  says  lie,  “  in  some  measure  the  health  which  I  had 
lost  by  too  much  application  to  this  work,  is  owing,  next  to 
God’s  mercy,  to  the  skill  and  care  of  Dr.  Guibbons  and  Dr. 
Hobbs,  the  two  ornaments  of  their  profession,  whom  I  can  only 
pay  by  this  acknowledgment.” 

The  healing  art  is  not  without  its  heroes  also.  Madame  de 
Genlis  relates  the  story  of  one  who,  to  save  his  native  city  from 
the  ravages  of  the  plague,  voluntarily  surrendered  himself  a 
sacrifice.  The  incident  is  as  follows :  “  The  plague  raged  vio¬ 

lently  in  Marseilles.  Every  link  of  affection  was  broken  ;  the 
father  turned  from  the  child,  the  child  from  the  father ;  injjra- 
titude  no  longer  excited  indignation.  Misery  is  at  its  height 
when  it  thus  destroys  every  generous  feeling,  thus  dissolves 
every  tie  of  humanity !  The  city  became  a  desert,  grass  grew 
in  the  streets,  a  funeral  met  you  at  every  step.  The  physicians 
assembled  in  a  body  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville ,  to  hold  a  consulta¬ 
tion  on  the  fearful  disease,  for  which  no  remedy  had  yet  been 
discovered.  After  a  long  deliberation,  they  decided  unani¬ 
mously  that  the  malady  had  a  peculiar  and  mysterious  charac¬ 
ter,  which  opening  a  corpse  alone  might  develop — an  operation 
it  was  impossible  to  attempt,  since  the  operator  must  infallibly 
become  a  victim  in  a  few  hours,  beyond  the  power  of  human 
art  to  save  him,  as  the  violence  of  the  attack  would  preclude 
their  administering  the  customary  remedies.  A  dead  pause 
succeeded  this  fatal  declaration.  Suddenly  a  surgeon  named 
Guyon,  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  of  great  celebrity  in  his  pro¬ 
fession,  rose,  and  said  firmly,  ‘  Be  it  so :  I  devote  myself  for 
the  safety  of  my  country.  Before  this  numerous  assembly  I 
swear,  in  the  name  of  humanity  and  religion,  that  to-morrow, 
at  the  break  of  day,  I  will  dissect  a  corpse,  and  write  down  as  I 
proceed  what  I  observe.’  ” 

lie  took  with  him  his  instruments,  and  locking  himself  up  in 
the  room  with  a  dead  victim  of  the  disease  he  finished  the 


230 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


dreadful  operation,  recording  in  detail  liis  surgical  observa¬ 
tions  ;  he  threw  the  papers  into  a  vase  of  vinegar,  and  then 
sought  the  lazaretto,  where  within  twelve  hours  he  expired. 
Xoble  hero !  he  sacrificed  his  own  life  for  that  of  his  country ! 

A  word  or  two  regarding  the  modern  systems  of  Homoeo¬ 
pathy  and  Hydropathy,  both  which  are,  as  might  have  been 
anticipated,  obnoxious  to  the  advocates  of  the  old  system  of 
Allopathy.  The  Hahnemannian  theory,  however,  now  num¬ 
bers  among  its  supporters  many  intelligent  and  philosophic 
minds,  although  the  infinitesimal  reduction  of  its  doses  to  the 
millionth,  billionth,  and  trillionth  part  of  a  grain,  is  more  than 
enough  to  stagger  the  belief  of  those  who  have  been  accus- 
turned  to  solutions  by  the  pailful,  and  powders  in  any  quantity. 

The  principle  of  the  Homoeopathists  is  founded  in  truth  and 
reason,  but  its  administrators  require  to  be  well  skilled  in  its 
doctrines,  as  their  remedial  agents  include  many  of  the  most 
subtle  and  powerful  poisons.  We  are  for  Homoeopathy  on 
account  of  its  modest  inflictions  upon  the  poor,  afflicted  patient, 
who,  in  appealing  to  the  old  system,  has  often  as  much  to 
abide  in  his  shattered  corporeity  from  the  attacks  of  the  cura¬ 
tive  process,  as  from  the  original  disease.  The  logic  of  the 
following  may  be  questioned,  but  it  is,  of  course,  intended  as  a 
sarcasm : 

“  The  Homoeopathic  system,  sir,  just  suits  me  to  a  tittle, 

It  clearly  proves  of  physic  you  cannot  take  too  little  ; 

If  it  he  good  in  all  complaints  to  take  a  dose  so  small, 

It  surely  must  be  better  still,  to  take  no  dose  at  all.” 

There  is  only  one  suggestion  we  have  to  offer  in  this  con¬ 
nection — it  is  this :  ought  not  the  Homoeopathic  practitioners  to 
regulate  their  fees  in  the  ratio  of  their  doses?  The  cold-water 
system  is  rapidly  extending  its  popularity  among  us.  Of 
mesmerism,  and  its  application  to  nervous  and  neuralgic 
diseases,  we  shall  not  pause  to  notice.  The  advantages  of 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


231 


chloroform  have  been  so  fully  discussed  by  everybody,  that 
we  shall  simply  give  the  reader  a  taste  of  one  of  these  exposi¬ 
tions  in  a  kind  of  mock  heroic  verse,  cut  from  an  English 
paper : 

“  Take  but  a  snuff  at  this  essence  angesthetical, 

Dropp’d  upon  a  handkerchief  or  bit  of  sponge, 

And  on  jour  eyelids  ’twill  clap  a  seal  hermetical, 

Amd  your  senses  in  a  trance  that  instant  plunge. 

“  Then  you  may  be  pinch’d  and  punctured,  bump’d  and  thump’d  and 
whack'd  about, 

Scotch’d,  and  scored,  and  lacerated,  cauterized,  and  hacked  about ; 

And  though  tender  as  a  chick — a  Sybarite  for  queasiness — 

t. 

Flay’d  alive,  unconscious  of  a  feeling  of  uneasiness. 

“  Celsus  wall  witness  our  deft  chirurgeons  presently, 

Manage  operations  as  he  said  they  should  ; 

Doing  them  safely,  speedily,  and  pleasantly , 

Just  as  if  the  body  were  a  log  of  wood. 

“  Teeth,  instead  of  being  drawn  "with  agonies  immeasurable, 

Now  will  be  extracted  with  sensations  rather  pleasurable, 
Chloroform  will  render  quite  agreeable  the  parting  with 
Any  useless  member  the  patient  has  been  smarting  with.” 

An  instance  of  the*disadvantao;es  of  this  anaestketical  a^ent. 

o  o 

is  seen  in  the  following  incident  however,  which  occurred  at 
Taunton  Hospital,  where,  as  a  patient  was  undergoing  amputa¬ 
tion  of  a  limb  while  under  the  influence  of  chloroform,  the 
nurse  let  fall  the  bottle  containing  the  gas,  which  quickly 
spread  its  somniferous  effects  over  the  operators,  and  some 
time  elapsed  before  they  recovered  from  their  partial  insensi¬ 
bility. 

There  are  several  distinct  varieties  among  the  medical  pro¬ 
fession  ;  as  the  following :  First,  the  silent  doctor,  who  is 
evidently  a  lover  of  creature  comforts,  and  whose  taciturn, 
dignified,  and  mysterious  deportment  passes  current  with  the 
unsuspecting,  for  profound  wisdom.  He  ingeniously  manages 


232 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


to  secure  the  greatest  number  of  patients  with  the  fewest 
possible  words.  “  The  silent  doctor  is  a  great  favorite  with 
the  fair  sex ;  they  regard  him  as  Coleridge  did  his  quondam 
acquaintance  of  dumpling  celebrity,  and  think  that  as  stillest 
streams  are  ofttimes  the  deepest,  so  there  must  be  something 
intensely  fascinating  in  the  said  doctor,  if  it  only  could  be  dis¬ 
covered.  Everybody  knows,  too,  how  each  individual  woman 
believes  herself  endowed  by  nature  with  peculiar  faculties  for 
discovering  the  occult,  for  unravelling  the  mysterious ;  and 
who  more  mysterious  than  the  silent  doctor  ? 

“  But,  leavjng  him  now  in  their  safe  keeping,  our  next  illus¬ 
tration  shall  be  of  the  sceptical  doctor.  Though  confessedly 
against  his  interest,  he  is  very  slow  to  believe  that  anything  is 
the  matter  with  anybody.  If  people  are  resolved  to  be 
quacked,  he  finds  a  bread-pill,  to  be  taken  four  times  a  day — 
a  safe  and  wholesome  remedy.  Still,  though  mortally  averse 
to  old  women  and  nervous  invalids,  when  there  is  real  suffer¬ 
ing,  the  sceptical  doctor  feels  keenly,  all  the  more,  perhaps, 
from  his  efforts  to  conceal  it. 

“  Of  all  others,  perhaps,  the  most  provoking  is  the  talkative 
doctor.  Well  versed  in  almost  every  subject,  fond  of  litera¬ 
ture,  of  politics,  and  of  science,  it  is  difficult  to  keep  him  to 
the  point,  and  obtain  any  definite  opinion  or  practical  advice 
from  him.  Quite  forgetful  that  you  are  in  actual  pain,  or 
grievous  discomforture,  a  single  hint  or  remote  allusion  is 
sufficient  to  draw  forth  a  learned  discussion  on  ancient  or 
mediaeval  art,  or  the  marbles  of  Nineveh.” 

Then,  there  is  another  type,  which  may  be  styled  the  mor¬ 
bid  doctor,  who  is  ever  looking  at  the  dark  side  of  a  case,  and 
wffiose  visage  is  long  and  lugubrious.  A  vision  of  such  an 
impersonation  of  the  dismal,  is  of  itself  sufficient  to  shock  the 
nerves  of  a  patient  and  aggravate  his  disease,  of  whatsoever 
nature  it  may  be. 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


233 


So  much,  then,  for  our  pleasantries  with  the  gentlemen  of 
the  curative  art. 

Let  us  look,  for  a  moment,  at  that  troublesome  personage, 
whose  oft-dilapidated  condition  makes  such  onerous  demands 
upon  the  doctor’s  skill.  Physiologists  assert  that  this  “  paragon 
of  animals”  is  physically  a  machine — a  steam-engine — his 
brain  the  engine,  his  lungs  the  boiler,  his  viscera  the  furnace. 
That  he  glides  along  the  track  of  life,  often  at  the  fearful 
speed  of  sixty  or  seventy  pulsations  in  a  minute,  never  stop¬ 
ping,  so  long  as  the  machine  is  in  working  order.  He  lias 
also  been  compared  to  a  steamship,  a  chemical  laboratory,  a 
distillery,  a  forcing-pump,  a  grist-mill,  a  furnace,  an  electric 
telegraph. 

Man  has  the  power  of  imitating  almost  every  motion  but 
that  of  flight.  To  effect  these  he  has,  in  maturity  and  health, 
60  bones  in  his  head,  60  in  his  thighs  and  legs,  62  in  his  arms 
and  hands,  and  67  in  the  trunk.  lie  has  also  434  muscles. 
His  heart  makes  60  pulsations  in  a  minute.  There  are  also 
three  complete  circulations  of  the  blood,  in  the  short  space  of 
an  hour.  Who  thinks  he  carries  so  much  about  with  him  ? 

Whittier  observes :  “  It  is  the  special  vocation  of  the  doctor 
to  grow  familiar  with  suffering — to  look  upon  humanity  dis¬ 
robed  of  its  pride  and  glory — robbed  of  all  its  fictitious 
ornaments — weak,  hopeless,  naked — and  undergoing  the  last 
fearful  metempsychosis,  from  its  erect  and  god-like  image,  the 
living  temple  of  an  enshrined  divinity,  to  the  loathsome  clod 
and  the  inanimate  dust !  Of  what  ghastly  secrets  of  moral  and 
physical  disease  is  he  the  depository  !  ”  With  what  a  sanctity, 
therefore,  is  the  character  of  the  true  physician  invested. 

It  has  been  well  said,  that  the  theory  and  practice  of 
medicine  is  the  noblest  and  most  difficult  science  in  the  world ; 
and  that  there  is  no  other  art  for  the  practice  of  which  the 
most  thorough  education  is  so  essential. 


234 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


Add  to  this  the  society  of  all  kinds  into  which  the  medical 
man  is  thrown,  the  knowledge  of  human  nature  he  acquires 
thereby,  the  many  beautiful  traits  of  domestic  affection  and 
woman’s  love,  which  pass  daily  before  him,  the  gratitude  of 
some  hearts,  the  cordial  friendship  of  others,  the  respect  to  be 
attained  from  all — and  it  will  scarcely  be  denied  that  the  prac¬ 
tice  of  medicine  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  delightful, 
as  well  as  responsible,  of  all  professions. 

In  fine,  since  there  is  a  sacredness  in  the  trust  confided  to 
the  professor  of  the  healing  art,  a  corresponding  fidelity  to  its 
claims  and  responsibilities  is  indispensably  requisite ;  and, 
consequently,  he  who  is  recklessly  indifferent  to  these,  is  guilty 
of  the  highest  style  of  crime,  in  a  wanton  betrayal  of  the  faith 
reposed  in  him.  This  would  exclude  quacks. 

Our  own  age  has  made  several  remarkable  discoveries  in 
medical  science.  Look  at  the  grand  discovery  of  chloroform, 
which  has  saved  thousands  of  hours  of  helpless  agony.  There 
is  no  tale  of  daring  and  discovery  more  remarkable  than  the 
narrative  of  the  hours  which  Professor  Simpson,  and  his  friends 
in  Edinburgh,  spent  in  testing  various  narcotic  agencies,  until 
they  became  first  exhilarated  and  then  insensible,  while  testing 
chloroform,  and  awoke  to  the  conviction  that  they  had  now 
become  acquainted  with  the  most  powerful  anaesthetic  known 
or  conceived.  The  discovery  of  cod-liver  oil  has  been  a  boon 
of  the  most  inestimable  kind.  Dr.  Williams  states  that  in  a 
certain  time  he  prescribed  it  in  eleven  thousand  cases,  and  in 
ninety-five  per  cent  with  beneficial  results.  It  is  now  known 
that  consumption  is  curable  in  its  earlier  stages.  The  average 
length  of  consumptive  cases,  which  used  to  be  two  years,  is 
now  prolonged  to  five  years.  Even  where  medicine  cannot 
heal,  it  obtains  one  of  its  greatest  triumphs  in  palliating  a 
disorder.  There  never  was  a  time  in  the  history  of  medicine 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


235 


when  its  soothing  and  alleviating  side  was  so  assiduously  and 
successfully  cultivated,  as  at  the  present  day. 

Then  the  knowledge  of  the  human  frame  daily  grows  more 
extensive  and  exact.  Look  at  Laennec’s  wonderful  discovery 
of  the  stethoscope.  It  is  now  known  that  of  the  three  organs 
which  make  the  tripod  of  life,  brain,  lungs,  and  heart  (accord¬ 
ing  to  Bichat’s  theory,  now  generally  received,  death  always 
issues  from  one  of  these  three  avenues),  diseases  of  the  heart, 
which  were  once  thought  exceedingly  rare,  are  the  most  com¬ 
mon,  and  probably  the  least  hurtful.  It  is  half  the  battle 
with  disease  to  know  accurately  what  is  really  the  matter  with 
the  patient.  ITarvey  had  heard  the  healthy  sounds  of  the 
heart ;  but  its  morbid  sounds  inform  us  now  of  the  nature  of 
its  structural  defects.  The  sounds  of  breathing  must,  count¬ 
less  times  ere  this,  have  met  the  ear ;  but  it  was  reserved  for 
our  own  days,  to  study  them  so  often  as  to  enable  every  tyro 
to  say  what  is  the  state  of  those  great  organs,  hidden  from  our 
view,  but  so  indispensable  to  life.  And  so  with  percussion. 
Nay,  with  our  eyes  we  can  now  behold,  for  the  first  time  in  its 
living  acts,  that  marvellous  mechanism  in  its  most  exquisite 
and  joy-inspiring  movements,  as  well  as  when  it  is  oppressed 
by  disease,  which  stands  as  a  sentinel  at  the  orifice  of  the  air- 
passages,  and  on  which  the  voice  and  speech  primarily  depend. 

Thus  much,  then,  about  the  mission  of  medicine  and  its 
administrators — the  doctors.  When  we  do  indulge  a  little  in¬ 
trospection,  and  observe  what  a  marvellous  piece  of  mechanism 
the  “  house  we  live  in  ”  is,  we  ought  to  be  grateful  for  what¬ 
ever  aid  the  wit  and  skill  of  the  doctor  may  afford,  rather  than 
ridicule  his  vocation.  When  we  look  abroad,  and  see  the  surg¬ 
ing  multitudes  that  crowd  the  streets  and  lanes  of  our  cities, 
and  remember,  that,  notwithstanding  their  gay  and  flaunting 
attire  and  healthy  look,  that  ere  to-morrow,  or  to-morrow- week, 
many  may  be  summoned  to  a  sick  room,  the  victims  of  disease, 


230 


THE  MYSTERIES  OF  MEDICINE. 


we  shall  learn  the  better  to  prize  the  province  of  the  kindly 
physician. 

1 1  This  is  the  way  physicians  mend — or  end  us, 

Secundum  artem — bub  although  we  sneer, 

In  health — we  call  them  to  attend  us, 

Without  the  least  propensity  to  jeer.” 

Byron  hits  it  exactly — when  in  health,  we  throw  physic  to 
the  dogs,  and  laugh  at  the  doctor ;  but,  when  we  are  pros¬ 
trated  by  disease,  when  “  sickness  sits  caverned  in  the  hollow 
eye,”  we  are  glad  enough  to  seek  his  aid,  and  remunerate  him, 
as  far  as  we  can,  for  it.  Some,  after  having  passed  under  the 
recuperative  process,  are  ungrateful  enough  to  forget  the 
doctor’s  fee. 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 

W^ hat  more  sublime  and  spirit-stirring  than  to  “thread  the 
mazy  grove,5’  to  wander  beneath  the  thick  overhanging 
foliage,  penetrating  into  its  embowered  recesses  \  The  impos¬ 
ing  grandeur  of  the  scene  impresses  us  with  a  religious  awe, 
and  we  bow  reverently  before  these  visible  tokens  of  the 
Creator’s  beneficence  and  power,  as  seen  in  myriad  forms  of 
vernal  beauty.  From  the  creeping  ivy,  that  clings  with  fond 
tenacity  to  the  crumbling  ruin,  as  if  to  rescue  it  from  the  de¬ 
stroying  touch  of  Time,  to  the  stately  “  kings  of  the  forest,” 
in  their  leafy  grandeur,  what  a  world  of  wonders  is  encircled, 
inviting  our  astonished  gaze.  With  what  infinite  variety  of 
beauty  is  the  broad  realm  of  nature  decked — what  an  endless 
succession  of  delicate  forms  do  we  discover  in  the  spiral  grass, 
the  genera  of  plants,  and  the  ever-varying  foliage  of  trees. 

The  Elm,  with  its  rich  pendulous  branches,  the  sturdy  oak, 
the  maple,  “  clad  in  scarlet  and  gold,”  the  hoary  poplar,  the 
“  tulip-tree,”  with  its  brilliant,  glossy  leaves  and  blossoms,  and 


238 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


many  others,  with  whose  generous  shade,  graceful  outline,  and 
exceeding  beauty,  we  all  are  familiar.  As  majestic  forms  of 
beauty,  which  none  can  contemplate,  without  having  the  finer 
sensibilities  of  their  nature  brought  into  exercise,  trees  may 
well  be  regarded  with  grateful  love,  if  not  with  a  feeling  of 
veneration.  'Not  only  did  they  form  the  luxurious  arbors  of 
repose  in  Eden,  they  constituted  also  the  arched  and  leafy 
temples  of  the  first  worshippers.  “  The  groves  were  God’s  first 
temples.” 

The  oratories  of  the  Jews  were  beneath  the  shadow  of  olive 
trees. 

The  ancient  Druids  of  Gaul,  Britain,  and  Germany  were  ac¬ 
customed  to  perform  their  mystic  rites  and  sacrifices  in  the  re¬ 
cesses  of  the  forest;  and  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  worshipped  God 
under  a  like  canopy. 

“  Do  not  trees  talk — have  they  not  leafy  lungs — do  they  not, 
at  sunrise,  when  the  wind  is  low,  and  when  the  birds  are  carolling 
their  songs,  play  sweet  music  ?  Who  has  ever  heard  the  soft 
whisper  of  the  green  leaves  in  spring  time,  on  a  sunny  morn¬ 
ing,  that  did  not  feel  as  though  rainbow  gleams  of  kindness 
were  running  through  his  heart  ? — and  then,  when  the  morn¬ 
ing-glory,  like  a  nun  before  the  shrine  of  God,  discloses  her 
beautiful  face, — and  the  moss-roses  open  their  crimson  lips, 
sparkling  with  the  nectar  that  falls  from  heaven,  who  does  not 
bless  his  Maker? — and  when  autumn  comes,  the  season  of 
c  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,’ — when  the  wheat  is  in  its  golden 
prime,  and  the  corn  waves  like  silken  tassels  in  the  charmed 
air,  is  not  minded  of  the  reaper — Death  ?  ”  * 

Forests  have  been  by  a  poetic  fancy  styled  “  Nature’s  no¬ 
blest  sanctuaries.”  The  over-arching  branches  of  trees  first 
suggested  to  the  skill  of  the  sculptor  the  delicate  fret-work, 


*  De  Vere. 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


239 


* 

and  arborescent  decorations  of  our  ecclesiastical  architecture. 
The  leafy  column,  nave  and  transept  of  our  grand  old  cathe¬ 
drals,  were  but  the  imitations  of  art,  drawn  from  the  leafy  soli¬ 
tudes  of  Nature.  The  trees  of  the  field  and  forests,  are  replete 
with  poetic,  historic,  and  sacred  associations :  the  voice  of 
prayer  and  psalm  has  oft  ascended  to  Heaven,  from  beneath 
their  leafy  recesses ;  and  the  welkin  has  also  resounded  with 
the  clash  of  arms  and  the  wail  of  sorrow  beneath  their  shade, 
flow  largely,  too,  have  the  classic  poets,  like  Euripides,  been 
indebted  to  the  inspiration  of  the  sylvan  groves  of  Greece,  for 
their  themes. 

The  idea,  which  some  amateur  naturalists  seem  to  advance, 
that  trees  and  flowers  have  intelligence,  is  not  new  to  poetry, 
though  not  accepted  by  science.  Ovid  in  his  Metamorphoses , 
and  other  writers  of  the  classic  mythology,  hold  to  it. 

Few  objects  in  nature  are  capable  of  exciting  in  us  emotions 
more  deep  and  impressive  than  a  majestic  tree.  If  trees,  in¬ 
deed,  had  tongues  to  tell  us  what  they  have  witnessed,  how 
many  a  legend  of  thrilling  interest,  of  patient  suffering,  heroic 
achievement,  or  of  deadly  strife,  might  they  not  rehearse  to  us  ! 
But  theirs  is  a  silent  eloquence,  and  like  the  music  of  the 
spheres,  potent  and  persuasive  only  to  those  whose  inner  ear  is 
attent  to  their  voices.  How  royally  do  those  patriarchal  kings 
of  the  forest  rear  their  leaf-crowned  heads ;  and  how  sweetly 
amidst  their  foliage  do  the  feathered  songsters  charm  the  syl¬ 
van  solitudes  with  their  minstrelsy  ;  while  Flora,  with  a  lavish 
prodigality,  scatters  her  festive  glories  alike  o’er  meadow, 
copse,  hill-side,  forest,  and  field. 

“  Hail,  old  patrician  trees,  so  great  and  good  ! 

Ilail,  ye  plebeian  underwood  ! 

Where  the  poetic  birds  rejoice, 

And  for  their  quiet  nests  and  plenteous  food, 

Pay  with  their  grateful  voice  !  ”  * 


*  Cowley. 


240 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


The  mention  of  ancestral  trees  suggests  to  us  those  grand  old 
Cedars  of  Lebanon,  with  their  histories  reaching  adown  the 
centuries  as  some  conjecture,  even  to  the  age  of  Solomon,  and 
the  august  and  matchless  Temple  of  Jerusalem.  The  Eastern 
poets  say,  “the  cedar  bears  winter  in  its  head,  spring  on  its 
shoulders,  and  autumn  on  its  bosom,  while  summer  sleeps  at  its 
feet.” 

There  is  a  beautiful  legend  of  the  “  Tree  of  Life,”  which,  in 
the  words  of  John  Evelyn ,  reads  thus :  “  Trees  and  woods  have 
twice  saved  the  whole  world, — first  by  the  ark,  then  by  the 
Cross;  making  full  amends  for  the  evil  fruit  of  the  tree  in 
Paradise,  by  that  which  was  borne  on  the  tree  at  Golgotha !  ” 

The  palm,  once  so  prolific  in  Palestine,  but  now  scarcely  to 
be  seen  there,  is  frequently  referred  to  in  the  Sacred  Scrip¬ 
tures,  historically  and  allegorically.  Palms  have  been  styled 
“  Princes  of  the  Vegetable  Kingdom,”  from  the  fact  that  they 
are  the  most  valuable  of  all ;  every  portion — the  bark,  fruit, 
leaf,  and  wood,  being  available  for  use.  The  Palm-tree  most 
abounds  in  Persia,  Syria,  Arabia,  and  the  Delta  of  Egypt, — 
lands  that  do  not  yield  much  corn.  This  was  regarded  as  the 
traditional  tree,  wThose  branches  sweetened  the  bitter  waters  of 
Marah,  as  furnishing  the  festal  boughs  of  the  Feast  of  Taber¬ 
nacles,  and,  as  also  giving  its  name  to  Jericho — the  “  City  of 
Palms.”  The  Palm  became  to  the  Jews,  and  also  the  Greeks 
and  Pomans,  the  emblem  of  Victory :  and  it  will  be  remem¬ 
bered  that  our  Saviour’s  entry  into  Jerusalem  was  greeted  with 
branches  of  this  tree. 

The  Olive  has  also  its  historic  associations,  sacred  and  pro¬ 
fane.  Koah’s  dove  bore  an  olive  leaf ;  the  Israelites  held  it  in 
reverence  ;  and  its  wood  formed  the  material  of  the  door-posts 
of  the  Temple ;  while  from  the  Olive  also  were  carved  the 
Cherubins  of  the  Oracle.  Among  the  sacred  mountains  of  Pales- 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


241 


tine  was  the  ever  memorable  Mount  of  Olives.  As  a  Chris¬ 
tian  symbol,  the  olive  branch  indicates  peace. 

The  Holly, — with  which  at  Christmas  tide  we  are  accus¬ 
tomed  to  deck  our  churches, — was  to  the  ancient  races  of 
the  North,  a  sign  of  the  life  which  preserved  nature  through  the 
desolations  of  winter.  Southey’s  well-known  lines  on  the 
Holly  suggest  themselves  here  : 

“  0,  reader  !  hast  thou  ever  stood  to  see  the  Holly  tree  ? 

The  eye  that  contemplates  it  well,  perceives  its  glossy  leaves, 

Ordered  by  an  Intelligence  so  wise, 

As  might  confound  the  atheist’s  sophistries.” 

Then  there  is  Chaucer’s  oak,  so  called  from  the  tradition 
that  it  was  planted  by  the  hand  of  the  pioneer-poet  of  England  ; 
it  yet  stands  in  Dennington  Park,  England,  for  aught  we  know 
to  the  contrary.  The  oak  in  the  New  Forest,  against  which 
Tyrrell’s  arrow  glanced  before  it  killed  AY  illiam  Buf us,  which 
was  standing  until  a  century  since,  has,  like  the  Royal  Oak,  at 
Boscobel  House,  which  screened  the  fugitive  King  Charles  II., 
disappeared.  Wallace’s  oak,  at  Torwood,  Stirlingshire,  under 
which  the  hero  is  believed  to  have  convened  and  addressed  his 
followers,  is  still  extant.  The  Charter-oak  at  Hartford,  Con¬ 
necticut,  believed  to  have  been  six  hundred  years  old  when 
the  Commonwealth  was  founded,  was  so  called  because  in  it 
was  concealed  the  British  charter  of  Governor  Andros,  in  1687. 
It  fell  about  a  dozen  years  ago.  Another  memorable  oak 
was  that  which  stood  until  1857,  on  the  bank  of  the  Genesee 
river,  New  York ;  it  was  pre-historic ;  beneath  its  wide-spread 
branches,  doubtless,  many  an  Indian  war-council  was  held,  for 
its  age  has  been  computed  at  not  less  than  five  centuries.  At 
Allonville,  in  Normandy,  we  are  told  there  is,  or  was,  an  aged 
oak,  the  trunk  of  which  was  so  large  as  to  admit  of  being  fitted 
up  as  a  place  of  worship.  At  Kidlington,  England,  we  read 
of  an  enormous,  hollow  oak,  which  served  for  a  time  as  the 
16 


# 


242  TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 

village  prison, — from  which  we  may  infer  that  the  criminal 
calendar  of  that  quiet  hamlet  of  Oxfordshire,  could  not  have 
been  excessively  crowded.  If,  as  tradition  says,  King  John 
once  held  his  parliament  under  the  great  Torworth  chestnut,  in 
Gloucestershire,  he  might  have  done  the  same  with  greater 
facility  under  the  then,  and  still  existing  grand  old  trees  near 
Datchett,  Windsor,  adjoining  what  is  known  as  his  “hunting 
lod^e.” 

O 

Another  giant  oak  is  on  record,  known  as  Damory’s,  in  Dor¬ 
setshire,  of  which  the  circumference  is  stated  at  sixty-eight  feet 
the  cavity  of  the  trunk  being  sixteen  feet  wide  and  twenty 
feet  high.  It  was  fitted  up  for  what  do  you  suppose  ? — an  ale¬ 
house,  and  used  as  such  during  the  Commonwealth.  The  re¬ 
markable  chestnut,  on  Mount  Etna,  known  as  the  “  Tree  of  one 
hundred  horses,”  which  has  been  supposed,  from  its  immense 
proportions,  to  be  five  trees  united,  has  been  since  ascertained 
to  spring  from  one  root,  although  it  is  said  to  measure  two 
hundred  feet  in  circumference.  There  is  one  other  legendary 
tree  that  deserves  mention, — that  majestic  old  Pine,  which, 
until  quite  recently,  stood  near  Fort  Edward,  on  the  Hudson  ; 
for  it  witnessed  the  sad  fate  of  the  beautiful  but  hapless  Jane 
McCrea,  who,  when  captured  by  the  Indians,  in  1777,  lost  her 
life  by  the  very  bullet  intended  for  her  savage  and  relentless 
captors.  Ho  one  is  likely  to  forget  the  “  rugged  elms  ”  and 
“  yew-trees’  shade,”  beneath  which  repose  the  ashes  of  Gray ; 
or  the  neighboring  “  beeches,”  under  whose  leafy  branches  the 
“  Elegy”  was  born,  or  indeed  the  thick  grove  of  overhanging 
elms  that  embosom  the  “ivy-mantled  tower”  of  Upton  church. 
Nor  ought  we  to  forget  that  noble  old  elm,  known  as  Washing¬ 
ton’s  elm,  since  beneath  its  outstretched  arms,  the  General  first 
stepped  forward  to  his  officers  and  assumed  the  command  of 
the  American  forces. 

There  is,  or  wTas,  until  recently,  a  famous  yew-tree  near 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


243 


Staines,  England,  which  stood  prior  to  the  meeting  of  the 
Barons  at  Runnymede,  when  King  John  was  compelled  to  grant 
the  Magna  Charta. 

Shakspeare,  Milton,  and  Pope,  have  each  their  memorial 
trees  ;  the  two  former, — Mulberry  trees,  and  the  latter  the 
Willow.  Pope’s  “  weeping  willow  ”  sprang  from  a  small  twig 
which  the  poet  received  from  his  friend  Lady  Montague,  at 
Smyrna,  and  which  he  planted  near  his  villa  at  Twickenham. 
This  tree,  which  was  felled  in  1801,  was  the  progenitor  of  its 
race  in  Great  Britain,  and  the  United  States ;  a  British  officer 
during  the  war  of  the  Revolution,  having  brought  over  a  twig 
from  the  tree  at  Twickenham,  which  he  presented  to  Mr.  Cus- 
tis,  who  planted  it  in  his  grounds  at  Abingdon,  Virginia,  where 
it  took  root  and  flourished,  and  from  which  twigs  were  often 
transplanted. 

On  her  return  from  France,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  brought 
over  with  her  a  little  Sycamore  tree,  which  she  planted  in  the 
gardens  of  Holyrood ;  and  from  this  source,  it  is  said,  have 
sprung  the  beautiful  groves  of  sycamores  now  to  be  seen  in 
Scotland.  We  might  refer  to  multitudes  of  other  interesting 
instances  ;  for  example  the  Holly  with  its  sacred  allegoric  as¬ 
sociations  ;  and  many  other  notable  objects  in  the  grounds  at 
Blenheim,  Woburn  Abbey,  Wotton,  Kew  Gardens,  Hampton 
Court,  Kensington,  and  Chiswick  Botanical  Gardens,  so  rich  in 
exotics  from  all  parts  of  the  globe, — not  to  speak  of  the  superb 
grounds  at  Crystal  Palace,  Versailles,  St.  Cloud,  and  other 
notable  places. 

The  Dragon-tree  of  Orotava  is  described  as  about  seventy- 
five  feet  in  height  and  sixteen  in  circumference  at  the  base. 
All  travellers  to  Tenerifle  visit  this  gigantic  lily.  Tradition 
affirms  that  it  was  an  object  of  veneration  with  the  native 
Guanchos,  as  the  olive  and  the  elm  of  Ephesus,  were  to  the 
ancient  Greeks. 


244 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


The  bark  of  trees,  which  is  essentially  fibrous  and  cellular 
tissue,  presents  a  great  diversity  of  appearance.  This  bark 
consists  of  a  succession  of  annular  layers,  which  are  covered 
with  a  thin  cuticle  or  skin.  We  can  only  refer  to  the  cork¬ 
tree.  This  beautiful  tree,  which  is  a  species  of  oak,  and  fur¬ 
nishes  to  us  one  of  the  most  useful  commercial  products,  ac¬ 
quires  an  extraordinary  thickness  of  layer,  known  as  cork. 
This  mass  of  cork  attains  by  degrees  to  a  considerable  thick¬ 
ness  ;  and  if  not  removed,  would  crack  so  deeply,  as  to  become 
unfit  for  use  to  which  it  is  devoted.  This  tree  is  peculiar  to 
hot  climates.  Algeria  possesses  several  forests  of  the  cork  tree, 
in  course  of  working.  Spain  has  long  been  celebrated  for  its 
produce.  The  'crops  of  cork  are  generally  gathered  once 
every  eight  years.  The  banyan-tree  is  considered  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  natural  phenomena  in  India,  each  tree  being 
in  itself  a  grove,  and  in  some  instances  of  prodigious  dimen¬ 
sions  ;  while  this  self-augmenting  tree  seems  to  bid  defiance 
to  decay.  This  tree  is  worshipped  by  the  Hindoos.  Humboldt 
refers  to  a  magnificent  specimen  of  the  banyan,  the  large  trunks 
of  which  number  three  hundred  and  fifty,  the  smaller  ones 
amounting  to  about  five  thousand  ;  “  each  of  these,”  he  states, 
“is  constantly  sending  forth  branches  and  hanging  roots  to 
form  other  trunks.”  Seven  thousand  persons  are  said  to  find 
ample  room  to  repose  under  its  shade. 

Among  the  arborescent  marvels  of  nature,  may  be  mentioned 
the  Baobab  tree  of  tropical  Africa,  referred  to  by  Livingstone. 
Its  trunk  does  not  exceed  fifteen  or  eighteen  feet  in  height, 
but  its  girth  is  enormous,  attaining,  as  it  sometimes  does,  the 
circumference  of  thirty  to  forty  feet.  This  trunk  separates  at 
the  summit  into  branches  fifty  to  sixty  feet  long,  which  bend 
toward  the  earth  at  their  extremities ;  which,  seen  at  a  dis¬ 
tance,  presents  the  appearance  of  a  huge  dome,  or  ball,  of  ver¬ 
dure,  over  a  circuit  of  a  hundred  and  sixty  feet !  Its  flowers 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


245 


are  proportioned  to  its  gigantic  trunk, — often  measuring  five 
by  eight  inches.  The  Baobab  abounds  most  in  Senegal,  where 
it  was  first  discovered.  There  is  a  singular  use  made  of  the 
trank  of  this  tree,  when  hollow,  by  the  negroes ;  when  any  of 
their  Guerrots ,  or  musicians  and  poets  die,  they  bury  them 
within  the  trunk,  and  close  it  up  with  a  plank  ;  for  these  su¬ 
perstitious  people  imagine  that  if  they  were  to  bury  their 
sorcerers,  as  they  consider  them,  in  the  earth,  they  would  draw 
down  upon  themselves  the  Celestial  malediction.  There  is 
something  poetic  in  this  custom  of  a  barbarous  people,  which 
leads  them  to  bury  their  poets  between  heaven  and  earth,  in  the 
side  of  the  vegetable  king. 

The  picturesque  scenery  of  San  Joaquin  and  Tulare  valleys 
is  on  a  scale  of  grandeur  surpassing  that  of  Switzerland. 
Throughout  this  Alpine  region  hundreds  of  lofty  peaks  rise  one 
above  another,  the  highest  reaching  an  altitude  of  some  15,000 
feet  above  the  water  line.  The  Sierra  Nevada  mountain-range 
comprises  above  one  hundred  peaks  over  ten  thousand  feet 
high;  and  one,  Mount  Shasta,  towers  in  solitary  grandeur  7,000 
feet  above  everything  in  its  vicinity,  and  some  others  are  sup¬ 
posed  even  to  exceed  this  in  altitude.  And  this  is  not  all ;  im¬ 
agine  an  entire  forest,  extending  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  of 
trees  from  eight  to  twelve  feet  in  diameter,  and  from  two  hun¬ 
dred  to  three  hundred  feet  high  thickly  grouped,  their  trunks 
marvellously  straight  with  a  dense  canopy  of  branching  foliage ; 
and  you  may  obtain  a  faint  idea  of  the  magnificence  of  the 
great  forests  of  California. 

As  far  as  can  be  ascertained,  the  greatest  of  the  mammoth 
trees  of  California  are  the  following ;  namely,  one  measuring 
twenty-seven  feet  in  diameter, — its  circumference  having  been, 
before  it  became  partially  burned  at  the  base,  nearly  one  hun¬ 
dred  feet,  and  its  height  three  hundred  and  thirty  feet !  The 
other,  in  the  Mariposa  grove,  known  as  the  “  grizzly  giant,” 


246 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


which  is  estimated  at  upwards  of  500  years  old,  has  a  dia¬ 
meter  of  thirty  feet,  and  even  some  of  its  branches  measure  six 
feet  in  diameter.  These  Titanic  trees  have  been  botanically 
named,  Sequoia  gigantea  from  Sequoya ,  a  Cherokee  chief  who 
invented  an  Indian  alphabet  of  characters,  which  the  tribe  and 
the  missionaries  adopted.  These  California  trees  are,  it  is  be¬ 
lieved,  only  surpassed  by  an  Australian  species ;  one  of  which 
Muller,  the  Botanist,  computed  to  measure  four  hundred  feet 
in  height. 

Of  fruit  trees,  with  which  all  are  familiar,  it  is  needless  to 
speak;  we  may,  however,  refer  to  the  date  tree,  which  affords 
to  many  tribes  of  Upper  Egypt,  and  to  multitudes  in  other 
countries,  almost  their  only  sustenance.  It  is  a  remarkable  in¬ 
stance  of  the  design  of  Providence  to  render  most  parts  of  the 
earth  habitable,  that  the  date-palm  abounds  everywhere  on  the 
verge  of  the  vast  African  desert,  where  no  grain,  and  scarcely 
any  other  tree  can  grow.  Linnseus  asserts  that  the  region  of 
palms  was  the  first  country  of  our  race,  and  that  man  is  essen¬ 
tially  palmivorous.  Burkhardt  informs  us  that  date  trees  often 
constitute  the  dowry  of  an  eastern  bride.  The  bread-fruit  tree 
supplies  the  natives  of  the  Polynesian  isles,  their  principle  ar¬ 
ticle  of  diet ;  its  fruit  is  as  large  as  a  melon,  the  eatable  part 
white  as  snow,  and  when  roasted  has  a  sweet  taste.  The  cocoa- 
nut  tree  supplies,  as  we  all  know,  a  pleasant  kind  of  food  with 
a  milky  fluid ;  the  plantain,  or  banana,  is  in  the  torrid  zone 
what  wheat  and  rice  are  to  other  regions.  The  maple  and  the 
beet  root,  alike  supply  a  saccharine  matter,  which  is  used  very 
generally ;  and  the  birch  tree  yields,  by  incision,  a  copious 
supply  of  juice,  which  is  made  the  basis  of  a  light  and  agree¬ 
able  wine.  The  beautiful  Spanish  chestnut  tree,  also  bears  a 
fruit  upon  which  the  people  are  said  largely  to  subsist ;  and 
we  are  well  acquainted  with  the  article,  for  when  roasted  it  di¬ 
vides  the  choice  with  the  hazel,  the  hickory,  walnut,  the  Brazil, 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


247 


and  other  nuts.  Not  every  buyer,  or  even  seller  of  sago,  knows 
it  to  be  the  heart  of  a  tree,  nor  that  it  is  used,  in  Asia  for 
bread.  When  mature,  which  is  about  thirty  years’  growth,  the 
branches  show  a  yellowish  meal ;  the  tree  is  then  felled,  and 
on  splitting  it  the  sago  appears,  resembling  the  pith  of  elder. 
The  eatable  sago  is  the  meal  parted  from  the  filaments. 

The  coffee  plant,  or  tree,  for  it  sometimes  attains  to  eighteen 
feet  in  height,  yields  the  well-known  berry,  from  which  we  de¬ 
rive  the  delicious  beverage,  used  at  breakfast ;  its  counterpart, 
the  tea  plant,  also  possesses  a  world-wide  fame,  and  forms  the 
decoction  so  refreshing  to  the  weary,  and  is  such  an  indispen¬ 
sable  accompaniment  with  the  loquacious  Johnsons  and  Pioz- 
zis  of  all  countries. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  we  stand  indebted,  not  only  for  many 
internal  comforts,  but  some  external  advantages  also,  to  the 
scions  of  the  forest ;  and  even  when  trees  have  served  for  util¬ 
ity,  and  graceful  decoration  to  the  cottage  or  the  landscape,  we 
cut  them  down  for  fuel,  or  convert  them  to  a  thousand  other 
important  uses,  in  the  construction  of  ships,  houses,  and  the 
numerous  arts  of  life. 

New  York  City,  till  recently  possessed  a  relic  of  olden 
time  in  its  Stuyvesant  pear-tree,  which  was  planted  by  that 
notable  Dutch  Governor,  in  1647,  and  bore  fruit  until  a  brief 
interval  of  its  being  cut  down  in  1860.  The  tree  that  inspired 
the  pathetic  appeal  in  its  behalf,  by  George  P.  Morris, — 
“  Woodman,  spare  that  tree,”  stood  on  the  spot  now  forming 
the  corner  of  St.  Paul’s,  on  Church  street,  between  Yesey  and 
Fulton. 

“  Woodman,  forbear  thy  stroke  !  cut  not  its  earth-bound  ties  ; 

Oh,  spare  that  aged  oak,  now  towering  to  the  skies  ! 

When  but  an  idle  boy,  I  sought  its  grateful  shade  ; 

In  all  their  gushing  joy,  here,  too,  my  sisters  played : 

My  mother  kissed  me  here, — my  father  pressed  my  hand, — 

Forgive  this  foolish  tear,  but  let  that  old  oak  stand  !” 


TALK  ABOUT  TREES. 


MS 


The  great  Elm  on  Boston  Common  is  of  unknown  age.  It 
was  a  great  tree  when  Indian  chiefs  held  council  beneath  its 
shadow. 

The  American  Elm  is  an  historic  tree.  Under  its  shade 
many  interesting  scenes  have  transpired,  among  them  the 
preaching  of  Whitefield.  It  was  beneath  the  shade  of  a  noble 
elm  that  William  Penn  made  his  celebrated  treaty  with  the 
Bed  Men  of  the  forest,  adjoining  what  is  now  Philadelphia,  or 
more  precisely  on  a  spot  now  occupied  by  Kensington. 

At  Trenton,  New  Jersey,  is  an  interesting  Willow  tree,  it 
having  sprung  from  a  twig  brought  from  the  tree  that  over¬ 
shadowed  the  tomb  of  Napoleon,  at  St.  Helena. 

After  all  we  have  attempted  in  these  desultory  references, 
much  more  remains  yet  unnoticed  concerning  the  marvels  of 
nature,  among  her  shrubs,  herbs,  plants,  mosses,  lichens,  fungi, 
and  the  algae  of  the  world  of  waters. 


“What  is  here  ? 

Gold  I  gold,  yellow,  glittering,  precious  gold, 

Saint-seducing  gold  !  ”  Shakspeare. 

-  “O,  cursed  love  of  gold  !  when  for  thy  sake 

The  fool  throws  up  his  interest  in  both  worlds.”  Young. 

The  question  proposed  by  little  Paul,  in  Dombey  and  Son , 
is  suggested  by  the  caption  of  our  chapter — ■“  What’s  money  ?  ” 
The  reply  of  many  would  doubtless  be  the  same  as  that  re¬ 
turned  to  the  young  querist  referred  to — a  mere  mercantile 
one — namely,  that  it  is  currency,  specie,  and  bank-notes,  or 
gold,  silver,  and  copper.  But  this  did  not  suffice  for  little 
Paul ;  he  repeated  his  inquiry — “  I  mean  what’s  money,  after 
all  ?  ”  This  is  the  question  we  propose  to  discuss  in  an  illus- 


250 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


trative  way.  First  as  to  its  material.  Gold  and  silver,  styled 
tlie  precious  metals — are  both  pure,  ductile,  and  malleable, 
and  unaffected  by  most  conditions  of  atmosphere.  They  are 
of  intrinsic  and  positive  worth,  and  -were  therefore  adopted  as 
the  standards  of  value,  to  represent  all  commercial  exchanges. 

According  to  the  Parian  Chronicle,  a  record  of  the  third 
century  before  Christ,  Phiedon,  king  of  Argos,  in  order  to 
facilitate  commerce,  stamped  silver  money  in  the  island  of 
Angina,  b.c.  895.  Money,  as  to  its  name,  is  derived  from 
Juno  Moneta ,  the  Poman  Temple  where  it  was  coined  260  b.c. 

The  most  ancient  Jewish  coins  represented  a  pot  of  manna 
on  one  side,  and  AarorHs  blossoming  rod  on  the  other ;  the 
inscription  being  in  Samaritan. 

Jewish  shekels  were  Is.  7 d.\  a  talent  was  3,000  shekels,  or 
£342  3s.  9 d.  sterling. 

The  Egyptians  did  not  coin  till  the  accession  of  the  Ptole¬ 
mies,  nor  the  Jews  till  the  age  of  the  Maccabees ;  the  most 
ancient  known  coins  are  the  Macedonian,  of  the  date  of  about 
500  years  before  Christ. 

Athelstan  first  established  a  uniform  coin  in  England.  The 
Egbert  silver  coins  were  shillings,  thrimsas ,  pennies ,  halflings , 
and  feorthlings.  Gold  coin  was  introduced  by  Edward  III., 
in  six-shilling  pieces,  nearly  equal  in  size,  but  not  in  weight,  to 
modern  sovereigns.  Nobles  followed  at  6s.  8J,  and  became 
the  lawyer’s  fee.  Edward  IY.  coined  angels ,  with  a  figure  of 
Michael  and  the  Dragon. 

Money  had  its  equivalent  in  salt  in  Abyssinia — a  small  shell 
called  cowry ,  in  Hindostan — dried  fish  in  Iceland — and  wam¬ 
pum  among  the  JSTorth  American  Indians.  Hails  were  for¬ 
merly  in  use  in  Scotland,  as  we  learn  from  Smith’s  Wealth  of 
Nations. 

To  lack  money,  it  has  been  remarked,  is  to  lack  a  passport 
or  admission-ticket  into  the  pleasant  places  of  God’s  earth — to 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


251 


much  that  is  glorious  and  wonderful  in  nature,  and  nearly  all 
that  is  rare,  curious,  and  enchanting  in  art. 

Hood’s  lines  suggest  a  little  moralizing  : 

‘ 4  Gold  !  gold  !  gold  !  gold ! 

Bright  and  yellow,  hard  and  cold, 

Molten,  graven,  hammered,  rolled  ; 

Heavy  to  get,  and  light  to  hold  ; 

Hoarded,  bartered,  bought,  and  sold  ; 

Stolen,  borrowed,  squandered,  doled ; 

•  Spumed  by  the  young,  but  hugged  by  the  old, 

To  the  very  verge  of  the  church-yard  mould  ; 

Price  of  many  a  crime  untold  ; 

Gold  !  gold  !  gold  !  gold  !  ” 

What  has  not  man  sacrificed  upon  the  altar  of  Moloch  ?  his 
time,  his  health,  his  friendships,  his  reputation,  his  conscience, 
and  even  life  itself,  and  all  its  great  issues.  Hightly  used, 
money  is  the  procurer  of  the  domestic  comforts  and  luxuries, 
as  well  as  the  necessaries  of  life  ;  but  when  inordinately  cher¬ 
ished  and  coveted,  it  becomes  the  bane  of  happiness  and  peace. 
In  the  affair  of  marriage,  how  much  of  disaster  has  it  superin¬ 
duced — how  much  of  infelicity  entailed  upon  the  domestic 
relations.  Fuller  wisely  insists  that  it  is  much  better  to  have 
your  gold  in  the  hand,  than  in  the  heart.  A  man’s  character 
is  often  indicated  by  his  mode  of  using  money. 

A  vain  man’s  motto  is  “  win  gold  and  wrear  it  ” — a  generous 
man’s  “  win  gold  and  share  it  a  miser’s,  “  wfin  gold  and 
spare  it  ” — a  profligate’s,  “ win  gold  and  spend  it” — a  broker’s, 
“  win  gold  and  lend  it  ” — a  fool’s,  “  win  gold  and  end  it  ” — a 
gambler’s,  “  win  gold  and  lose  it  ” — a  wise  man’s,  “  win  gold 
and  use  it.” 

“  Of  all  the  evil  propensities  to  which  human  nature  is 
subject,  there  is  no  one  so  general,  so  insinuating,  so  corruptive, 
and  so  obstinate,  as  the  love  of  money.  It  begins  to  operate 


252 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


early,  and  it  continues  to  the  end  of  life.  One  of  the  first 
lessons  which  children  learn,  and  one  which  old  men  never 
forget,  is  the  value  of  money.  The  covetous  seek  and  guard  it 
for  its  own  sake,  and  the  prodigal  himself  must  first  be  avari¬ 
cious,  before  he  can  be  profuse.  This,  of  all  our  passions,  is  best 
able  to  fortify  itself  by  reason,  and  is  the  last  to  yield  to  the 
force  of  reason.  Philosophy  combats,  satire  exposes,  religion 
condemns  it  in  vain  ;  it  yields  neither  to  argument,  nor  ridi¬ 
cule,  nor  conscience.”  * 

This  love  of  money,  which  Holy  Scripture  tells  us  is  “  the  root 
of  all  evil,”  Jeremy  Taylor  describes  as  a  vertiginous  pool,  suck¬ 
ing  all  into  its  vortex,  to  destroy  it.  That  this  love  of  gold  is 
the  master  passion  of  the  age,  few  will  question.  It  is  “  the 
age  of  gold  ;  ”  the  auriferous  sands  of  the  Pacific  for  the  west¬ 
ern  hemisphere,  and  those  of  Australia  for  the  eastern,  are 
incessantly  pouring  out  their  treasures  to  feed  the  insatiate 
cravings  of  avarice.  The  liturgy  “  on  ’Change  ”  seems  to  read 
— Man’s  chief  end  is  to  make  money,  and  to  enjoy  it  while  he 
can.  The  votaries  of  Mammon,  however,  do  not  enjoy  their 
possessions — they  have  no  leisure  for  it,  in  their  ceaseless,  toil¬ 
some  efforts,  to  augment  their  fortunes. 

Thousands  in  the  great  city  there  are,  who  never  look  out  of 
the  narrow  circle  of  self-interest ;  whose  decalogue  is  their 
arithmetic ;  whose  Bible  is  their  ledger ;  who  have  so  con¬ 
tracted,  and  hardened,  and  indurated  their  natures,  that  in  any 
spiritual  estimate,  they  would  only  represent  so  many  bags  of 
dollars. 

It  is  indispensable,  in  some  cases,  that  men  should  have 
money,  for  without  it  they  would  be  worth  nothing.  This, 
however,  offers  no  apology  for  the  universal  scramble  after 
money.  Is  this  money-mania  the  highest  development  of  our 


*  Hunter’s  Biography. 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


253 


vaunted  civilization? — the  summum  bonum  of  human  exist¬ 
ence  ? — the  Ultima  Thule  of  human  effort  ? 

“  The  plague  of  gold  strikes  far  and  near, 

And  deep  and  strong  it  enters ; 

The  purple  cymar  which  we  wear, 

Slakes  madder  than  the  centaurs  ; 

Our  thoughts  grow  blank,  our  words  grow  strange, 

We  cheer  the  pale  gold-diggers, 

Each  soul  is  worth  so  much  on  ’Change, 

And  marked,  like  sheep,  with  figures.  ” 

“  Men  work  for  it,  fight  for  it,  beg  for  it,  steal  for  it,  starve 
for  it,  lie  for  it,  live  for  it,  and  die  for  it.  And  all  the  while, 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  Nature  and  God  are  ever  thun¬ 
dering  in  our  ears  the  solemn  question — ‘  What  shall  it  profit 
a  man  to  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  ’  This 
madness  for  money  is  the  strongest  and  the  lowest  of  the  pas¬ 
sions  ;  it  is  the  insatiate  Moloch  of  the  human  heart,  before 
whose  remorseless  altar  all  the  finer  attributes  of  humanity  are 
sacrificed.  It  makes  merchandise  of  all  that  is  sacred  in 
human  affections ;  and  even  traffics  in  the  awful  solemnities  of 
the  eternal  world.” 

“  Gone,  the  spirit-quickening  leaven, 

Faith  and  love,  and  hope  in  heaven — 

All  that  warmed  the  earth  of  old. 

Dead  and  cold,  its  pulses  flutter ; 

Weak  and  old,  its  parched  lips  mutter, 

Nothing  nobler,  nothing  higher 
Than  the  unappeased  desire, 

The  quenchless  thirst  for  gold  !  ” 

Money  is  a  good  servant,  but  a  bad  master.  It  may  be 
accused  of  injustice  towards  mankind,  inasmuch  as  there  are 
only  a  few  who  make  false  money,  whereas  money  makes 
many  false  men.  Mammon  is  the  largest  slaveholder  in  the 


254 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


world — it  is  a  composition  for  taking  stains  out  of  character — 
it  is  an  altar  on  which  self  sacrifices  to  self. 

‘  ‘  How  many  a  man  from  love  of  pelf, 

To  stuff  Lis  coffers,  starves  himself ; 

Labors,  accumulates,  and  spares, 

To  lay  up  ruin  for  his  heirs ; 

Grudges  the  poor  their  scanty  dole, 

Saves  everything  except  his  soul ; 

And  always  anxious,  always  vexed, 

Loses  both  this  world  and  the  next !  ” 

Shakspeare  defines  the  sordid  passion  as — 

“  Worse  poison  to  men’s  souls, 

Doing  more  murders  in  this  loathsome  world 
Than  any  mortal  drug.” 

In  the  words  of  Johnson,  it  is  the 

“  Wide-wasting  pest !  that  rages  unconfined, 

And  crowds  with  crimes  the  records  of  mankind ; 

For  gold,  his  sword  the  hireling  ruffian  draws, 

For  gold,  the  hireling  judge  distorts  the  laws; 

Wealth  heaped  on  wealth,  nor  truth  nor  safety  buys, 

The  dangers  gather  as  the  treasures  rise.” 

“  The  covetous  man  lives  as  if  the  world  were  made  altogether 
for  him,  and  not  he  for  the  world,  to  take  in  everything,  and  to 
part  with  nothing.  Charity  is  accounted  no  grace  with  him, 
nor  gratitude  any  virtue.  In  short  he  is  a  pest  and  a  monster, 
greedier  than  the  sea,  and  barrener  than  the  shore.”  * 

“  The  wretch  concentered  all  in  self, 

Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 

And.  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust  from  whence  he  sprung 
Unwept,  unhonored,  and  unsung.” 

Wealth  usually  ministers  to  the  baser  passions  of  our  nature 


*  South. 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


255 


— it  engenders  selfishness,  feeds  arrogance,  and  inspires  a  sense 
of  self -security,  and  deadens  and  stultifies  the  nobler  feelings 
and  holier  aspirations  of  the  heart.  AV ealth  is  a  source  of  end¬ 
less  discontent ;  it  creates  more  wants  than  it  supplies,  and 
keeps  its  incumbent  constantly  craving,  crafty,  and  covetous. 
Lord  Bacon  says,  “  I  cannot  call  riches  by  a  better  name  than 
the  ‘  baggage 5  of  virtue.  It  cannot  be  spared  or  left  behind, 
and  yet  it  hindereth  the  march.'’  “  Misery  assails  riches,  as 
lightning  does  the  highest  towers ;  or  as  a  tree  that  is  heavy 
laden  with  fruit,  breaks  its  own  boughs,  so  do  riches  destroy  the 
virtue  of  their  possessor.” 

Burton  quaintly  but  forcibly  observes, — u  AYorldly  wealth  is 
the  devil’s  bait;  and  those  whose  minds  feed  upon  riches,  re¬ 
cede  in  general,  from  real  happiness,  in  proportion  as  their 
stores  increase ;  as  the  moon,  when  she  is  fullest  of  light,  is 
furthest  from  the  sun.” 

A  miser  is,  moreover,  the  most  oblivious,  as  well  as  the  most 
vindictive  of  mortals ;  he  is  said  to  be  always  for-getting,  and 
never  for-giving.  He  lives  unloved,  and  dies  unlamented.  His 
self-denial  is  only  surpassed  by  his  denial  of  the  poor  and  des¬ 
titute.  The  miser  starves  himself  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  that 
he  may  feast  his  imagination  on  his  useless  hoards.  xAvarice, 
unlike  most  other  passions,  becomes  more  exacting  as  its  victim 
increases  in  age.  Fielding  speaks  of  a  miser,  who  consoled 
himself  on  his  death-bed  “  by  making  a  crafty  and  advanta¬ 
geous  bargain  concerning  his  funeral,  with  an  undertaker  who 
had  married  his  only  child.”  There  have  been  examples  of 
misers  who  have  died  in  the  dark  to  save  the  cost  of  a  candle. 
How  debasing  the, passion  which  can  survive  every  other  feel¬ 
ing,  sear  the  conscience,  and  deaden  the  moral  sense  !  “  Of  all 
creatures  upon  earth  none  is  so  despicable  as  the  miser.  He 
meets  with  no  sympathy.  Even  the  nurse  who  is  hired  to  at¬ 
tend  him  in  his  latest  hours,  loathes  the  ghastly  occupation,  and 


256 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


longs  for  the  moment  of  her  release ;  for  although  the  death- 
damp  is  already  gathering  on  his  brow,  the  thoughts  of  the  de¬ 
parting  sinner  are  still  upon  his  gold  ;  and,  at  the  mere  jingle 
of  a  key,  he  starts  from  his  torpor  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror,  lest 
a  surreptitious  attempt  should  be  made  upon  the  sanctity  of  his 
strong  box.  There  are  no  prayers  of  the  orphan  or  widow  for 
him — not  a  solitary  voice  has  ever  breathed  his  name  to  heaven 
as  a  benefactor.  One  poor  penny  given  away  in  the  spirit  of 
true  charity  would  now  be  worth  more  to  him  than  all  the  world 
contains  ;  he  has  never  yet  been  able  to  divorce  himself  from 

f; 

his  solitary  love  of  lucre,  or  to  part  with  one  atom  of  his  pelf. 
And  so,  from  a  miserable  life — deserted,  despised,  he  passes  in¬ 
to  a  dread  eternity  ;  and  those  whom  he  has  neglected  or  mis¬ 
used,  make  merry  with  the  hoards  of  the  miser !  ”  * 

“  The  aged  man  that  coffers  np  his  gold, 

Is  plagued  with  cramps,  and  gouts,  and  painful  fits, 

And  scarce  has  eyes  his  treasure  to  behold ; 

But  like  still  pining  Tantalus  he  sits, 

And  useless  barns  the  harvest  of  his  wits ; 

Having  no  other  pleasure  of  his  gain 
But  torment  that  it  cannot  cure  his  pain.  ” 

The  animating  principle  of  both  miser  and  hog  is,  of  course, 
selfishness.  Both  are  delvers  of  the  grovelling  sort,  both  are 
ill-tempered  and  sometimes  cruel.  It  is  noticed  by  a  Swedish 
writer,  that  “  the  hog  does  not  enjoy  the  society  of  man,  as  the 
dog  does.  He  likes  going  about  by  himself,  grunting  in  an  un¬ 
dertone,  which  he  prefers  to  raising  his  voice  to  its  highest 
pitch.”  This  is  eminently  true  of  the  miser.  He  is  thoroughly 
unsocial  in  his  disposition,  burrows  by  himself,  and  mutters  to 
himself,  not  daring  to  raise  his  voice  in  manly  tones,  lest  it 
should  draw  attention  to  his  ill-gotten  gains. 


*  Blackwood. 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


257 


“  The  wretched  victim  of  avarice  is  ever  striving  to  amass 
wealth  by  every  expedient  that  will  not  subject  him  to  the 
criminal  laws,  and  to  place  it  in  security,  is  the  great  and  ulti¬ 
mate  object  of  his  pursuit.  Mammon  is  the  great  idol  he  wor¬ 
ships,  and  whatever  the  specious  and  plausible  pretexts  he  may 
assume,  he  pays  homage  at  no  other  shrine.  In  his  selfish  iso¬ 
lation,  he  surrenders  himself  up  to  the  domination  of  his  de¬ 
basing  passion — a  voluntary  exile  from  the  endearing  offices  of 
friendship,  and  the  gentle  charities  of  domestic  and  social  life. 
The  benign  and  blessed  influence  of  lieaven-born  Peace  sheds 
not  her  halcyon  rays  upon  his  dark  and  desolate  heart.  A  miser 
is  one  who,  though  he  loves  himself  better  than  all  the  world, 
uses  himself  worse  :  for  he  lives  like  a  pauper  in  order  that  he 
may  enrich  his  heirs,  whom  he  naturally  hates,  because  he  knows 
they  hate  him.55  * 

At  a  subscription  of  the  French  Academy  for  some  charita¬ 
ble  object,  each  contributor  putting  in  a  louis  d'or,  the  collec¬ 
tor,  by  mistake,  made  a  second  application  to  a  member  noted 
for  his  penuriousness — “  I  have  already  paid,”  exclaimed  the 
latter  with  some  asperity.  “  I  beg  your  pardon,”  said  the  ap¬ 
plicant,  “  I  have  no  doubt  but  you  paid  ;  I  believe  it  though  I 
did  not  see  it.”  “  And  I  saw  it,  and  do  not  believe  it,”  whis¬ 
pered  Voltaire. 

“  Other  passions  have  their  holidays,”  says  an  old  writer, 
“  but  avarice  never  suffers  its  votaries  to  rest.” 

“0,  cursed  love  of  gold  !  when  for  thy  sake 
The  fool  throws  up  his  interest  in  both  worlds.” 

“  Joshua,”  said  Ambrose,  “  could  stop  the  course  of  the  sun, 
but  all  his  power  could  not  stop  the  course  of  avarice.  The 
sun  stood  still,  but  avarice  went  on  ;  Joshua  obtained  a  victory 


17 


*  Horace  Smith. 


258 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


when  the  sun  stood  still ;  but  when  avarice  was  at  work  Joshua 
was  defeated.”  We  have  other  recorded  facts  in  sacred  story 
illustrative  of  the  crime  of  cupidity.  Aclian’s  covetous  humor 
made  him  steal  that  wedge  of  gold  which  served  to  “  cleave 
his  soul  from  God  ;  ”  it  made  Judas  betray  Christ ;  and  Absa¬ 
lom  to  attempt  to  pluck  the  crown  from  his  father’s  head. 

Sands  has  written  a  beautiful  apostrophe  to  Poverty,  and 
by  way  of  contrast,  we  cite  a  sentence  or  two : 

“  They  have  chained  the  good  goddess — they  have  beaten 
her  and  persecuted  her  ;  but  they  cannot  debase  her.  She  has 
taken  refuge  in  the  souls  of  poets,  of  peasants,  of  artists,  of 
martyrs,  and  of  saints.  Many  children  has  she  had,  and  many 
a  divine  secret  lias  she  taught  them.  She  does  all  the  greatest 
and  most  beautiful  things  that  are  done  in  the  world  ;  it  is  she 
who  cultivates  the  fields,  and  prunes  the  trees — who  drives  the 
herds  to  pasture,  singing  the  while  all  sweet  songs — who  sees 
the  day-break,  and  catches  the  sun’s  first  smile.  It  is  she  who 
inspires  the  poet,  and  makes  eloquent  the  guitar,  the  violin,  and 
the  fiute  ;  who  instructs  the  dexterous  artisan,  and  teaches  him 
to  hew  stone,  to  carve  marble,  to  fashion  gold  and  silver,  copper 
and  iron.  It  is  she  who  supplies  oil  for  the  lamp,  who  reaps  the 
harvest  fields,  kneads  bread  for  us,  weaves  our  garments,  in 
summer  and  winter,  and  who  maintains  and  feeds  the  world. 
It  is  she  who  nurses  us  in  infancy,  succors  us  in  sorrow  and 
sickness,  and  attends  us  to  the  silent  sleeping-place  of  death. 
Thou  art  all  gentleness,  all  patience,  all  strength  and  all  com¬ 
passion.  It  is  thou  who  dost  reunite  all  thy  children  in  a  holy 
love,  givest  them  charity,  faith,  hope,  O,  goddess  of  Poverty  !  ” 

Every  man  is  rich  or  poor,  according  to  the  proportion  be¬ 
tween  his  desires  and  enjoyments.  Of  riches,  as  of  other  things, 
the  pursuit  is  more  than  the  enjoyment ;  while  we  consider 
them  as  the  means  to  be  used  at  some  future  time  for  the  at¬ 
tainment  of  felicity,  ardor  after  them  secures  us  from  weari- 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


259 


ness  of  ourselves  ;  but  no  sooner  do  we  sit  down  to  enjoy  our 
acquisitions,  than  we  find  them  insufficient  to  fill  up  the  vacui¬ 
ties  of  life.  We  are  poor  only  when  we  want  necessaries  ;  it 
is  custom  gives  the  name  of  poverty  to  the  want  of  superflui¬ 
ties. 

Worthy  Izaak  Walton  has  something  to  say  on  this  subject, 
too  good  to  be  omitted : 

“  I  have  a  rich  neighbor  that  is  always  so  busy  that  he  has 
no  leisure  to  laugh ;  the  whole  business  of  his  life  is  to  get 
money,  more  money  that  he  may  still  get  more.  lie  is  still 
drudging,  saying  what  Solomon  says :  ‘  The  diligent  hand  mak- 
eth  rich.’  And  it  is  true,  indeed  ;  but  he  considers  not  that  it 
is  not  in  the  power  of  riches  to  make  a  man  happy  ;  for  it  was 
wisely  said  by  a  man  of  great  observation,  1  that  there  be  as 
many  miseries  beyond  riches,  as  on  this  side  of  them.’  And 
yet  heaven  deliver  us  from  pinching  poverty,  and  grant  that, 
having  a  competency,  we  may  be  content  and  thankful.  Let 
us  not  repine,  or  so  much  as  think  the  gifts  of  God  unequally 
dealt,  if  we  see  another  abound  in  riches,  when,  as  God  knows, 
the  cares  that  are  the  keys  that  keep  those  riches,  hang  often 
so  heavily  at  the  rich  man’s  girdle,  that  they  clog  him  with 
weary  days  and  restless  nights,  even  wdiere  others  sleep  quietly.” 

What  material  difference  is  it  to  us,  provided  we  inhale  the 
perfume  of  the  fragrant  flowers,  whether  they  belong  to  our 
neighbor  or  ourself ;  or  whether  the  fair  estate  be  the  property 
of  and  called  after  the  name  of  another,  so  we  are  refreshed 
with  the  vision  ?  We  share  a  community  of  interest  in  this  re¬ 
spect,  in  all  the  fair  and  beautiful  things  of  earth. 


“  For  nature’s  care,  to  all  her  children  just, 

With  richer  treasures  and  an  ampler  state 

Endows  at  large  whatever  happy  man  will  deign  to  use  them. 

His  the  city’s  pomp,  the  rural  honors  his — 


260 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


Whate’er  adorns  the  princely  dome,  the  column,  and  the  arch, 

The  breathing  marble,  and  the  sculptured  gold — 

Beyond  the  proud  possessor’s  narrow  claim, 

His  tuneful  breast  enjoys.” 

Man  is  necessarily  a  selfish  being  to  a  certain  extent,  but  the 
social  principle  is  no  less  an  attribute  of  his  nature  ;  and  the 
divine  injunction  requiring  him  to  love  his  neighbor  as  himself 
was  doubtless  imposed  for  the  preservation  of  the  weak  and  de¬ 
pendent,  as  well  as  being  the  palladium  of  all  the  virtues. 
As  a  class,  the  poor  are,  indeed,  often  prodigal  of  their  gifts, 
while  the  affluent  are  no  less  penurious;  the  former  may 
almost  be  said  to  rob  themselves,  while  the  latter  defraud  the 
necessitous  of  their  just  claims.  To  choose  between  the  two 
conditions,  indeed,  were  not  difficult ;  the  miser  sees  dazzling 
visions,  and  wields  the  will  of  others  at  his  nod,  but  to  all 
other  hopes  and  pleasures  he  is  dead,  and  cut  off  from  all  con¬ 
nection  with  his  kind. 

The  miser’s  ideal  sum  of  happiness  is,  always, — addition : 
yet  he  sometimes  finds,  at  the  end  of  the  reckoning,  that  the 
sum  total  is  misery.  Does  not  the  name  import  as  much — for 
is  there  not,  at  least,  an  etymological  connection  between, — 
miser  and  misery  ? 

“  I  am  rich  enough,”  says  Pope  to  Swift,  u  and  can  afford  to 
give  away  a  hundred  pounds  a  year.  I  would  not  crawl  upon 
the  earth  without  doing  a  little  good.  I  will  enjoy  the  pleasure 
of  what  I  give,  by  giving  it  alive,  and  seeing  another  enjoy  it. 
When  I  die,  I  should  be  ashamed  to  leave  enough  for  a  monu¬ 
ment,  if  a  wanting  friend  was  above  ground.”  That  speech 
of  Pope  is  enough  to  immortalize  him  ;  independently  of  his 
philosophic  verse. 

The  classic  page  furnishes  examples  of  a  noble  contempt  of 
wealth,  and  a  virtuous  preference  of  poverty  over  venality  and 
lust  of  riches.  These,  however,  are  rather  exceptions  to  the 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


261 


rule  which  sustains  the  converse  of  the  proposition ;  and  be¬ 
fore  turning  to  the  bright  side,  let  us  briefly  refer  to  one  or 
two  instances  of  the  baneful  effects  of  avarice  on  the  human 
heart.  The  history  of  nations,  is,  indeed,  but  little  more  than 
a  chronicle  of  the  crimes  engendered  by  the  cupidity  of  man¬ 
kind.  The  inordinate  desire  of  wealth  has  been  the  occasion 
of  more  mischief  and  misery  in  the  world  than  anything  else. 
Some  of  the  direst  evils  with  which  the  w’orld  has  ever  been 
afflicted,  have  emanated  from  this  source.  No  sooner  had 
Columbus  solved  the  problem  of  the  Western  Continent,  than 
the  accursed  lust  of  gold  began  to  fire  the  sordid  hearts  of  his 
successors.  Every  species  of  perfidy,  cruelty,  and  inhumanity 
towards  the  aborigines  was  practised  against  them,  in  order  to 
extort  from  them  their  treasures.  These  mercenary  wretches 
forced  the  natives  of  Hispaniola  so  mercilessly  to  delve  and 
toil  for  the  much-coveted  ore,  that  they  actually  reduced  their 
numbers,  within  less  than  half  a  century,  from  two  millions  to 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty.  The  conquest  of  Mexico,  by 
Cortez  and  his  followers,  impelled  by  the  same  insatiable  pas¬ 
sion,  was  accompanied  with  horrors,  atrocities,  and  slaughters, 
more  dreadful  and  revolting  than  almost  any  recorded  in  the 
annals  of  our  race.  To  prepare  the  way  for  enjoying  the 
plunder  they  had  in  view,  the  unoffending  Indians  were  butch¬ 
ered  by  thousands ;  while  carnage  and  every  species  of  heart¬ 
less  cruelty  marked  their  progress  of  spoliation.  In  the  siege 
of  Mexico,  no  less  than  a  hundred  thousand  of  the  natives 
were  sacrificed  ;  and,  as  if  to  add  to  the  effrontery  and  depra¬ 
vity  of  the  act,  it  was  perpetrated  under  the  standard  of  the 
Cross ,  and  with  the  invocation  of  the  God  of  armies  to  aid  the 
conquests.  The  like  atrocities  characterized  the  expedition  of 
Pizarro  for  the  conquest  of  Peru.  Under  perfidious  profes¬ 
sions  of  amity,  they  captured  the  Inca,  butchering  some  four 
thousand  of  his  unresisting  attendants. 


262 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


The  baneful  effects  of  avarice,  whether  displayed  in  individ¬ 
ual  conduct,  or  among  communities  of  men,  are  the  same. 
We  must  content  ourselves  with  referring  briefly  to  a  few  in¬ 
stances  of  the  former,  as  illustrative  of  the  force  of  this  debas¬ 
ing  evil. 

In  the  year  1790,  died  at  Paris,  literally  of  want,  the  well- 
known  banker — Ostervald.  This  miserable  victim  of  this  dis¬ 
ease,  a  few  days  prior  to  his  death,  resisted  the  importunities 
of  his  attendant  to  purchase  some  meat  for  the  purpose  of 
making  a  little  soup  for  him.  “  True,  I  should  like  the  soup,” 
he  said,  “  but  I  have  no  appetite  for  the  meat  ;  what  is  to  be¬ 
come  of  that  ?  it  will  be  a  sad  waste.”  This  poor  wretch  died 
possessed  of  £125,000  sterling.  Another  desperate  case  was 
that  of  Elwes,-  whose  diet  and  dress  were  alike  of  the  most  re¬ 
volting  kind,  and  whose  property  was  estimated  at  £800,000 
sterling.  Among  other  characteristic  incidents  related  of  him? 
it  is  said  that  on  the  approach  of  that  dread  summons  which 
was  to  divorce  him  from  his  cherished  gold,  he  exclaimed,  “  I 
will  keep  my  money — nobody  shall  rob  me  of  my  property.” 

We  meet  with  the  name  of  Daniel  Dancer,  whose  miserly 
propensities  were  indulged  to  such  a  degree,  that  on  one  occa¬ 
sion,  when  at  the  urgent  solicitation  of  a  friend,  he  ventured  to 
give  a  shilling  to  a  Jew  for  an  old  hat — “  better  as  new  ” — to 
the  astonishment  of  his  friend,  the  next  day  he  actually  retailed 
it  for  eighteen  pence.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying  a  snuff¬ 
box  about  with  him,  not  for  the  purpose  of  regaling  his  olfac¬ 
tory  organ,  but  for  what,  does  the  reader  suppose  ?  to  collect 
pinches  of  the  aromatic  dust  from  his  snuff-taking  friends : 
and  when  the  box  was  filled,  he  would  barter  its  contents  for  a 
farthing  rushlight !  lie  performed  his  ablutions  at  a  neigh¬ 
boring  pool,  drying  himself  in  the  sun,  to  save  the  extravagant 
indulgence  of  a  towel.  Other  eccentricities  are  chronicled  of 
this  remarkable  “  case” — such  as  lying  in  bed  during  the  cold 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


263 


weather  to  save  the  cost  of  fuel,  and  eating  garbage  to  save 
the  charges  for  food  :  yet  this  poor  mendicant  had  property 
to  the  extent  of  upwards  of  £3,000  per  annum.  There  was  a 
Russian  merchant — never  mind  his  name,  it  is  too  barbarously 
burdened  with  consonants  to  spell  or  pronounce — who  was  so 
prodigiously  wealthy,  that  on  one  occasion  he  loaned  the  Em¬ 
press  Catherine  the  Second  a  million  of  rubles,  although  he 
lived  in  the  most  deplorable  state  of  indigence,  privation,  and 
wretchedness.  He  buried  his  money  in  casks  in  his  cellar,  and 
was  so  great  a  miser  that  he  seemed  almost  to  thrive  upon  his 
very  passion.  He  had  his  troubles,  however,  for,  reposing  his 
trust  for  the  security  of  his  possessions  upon  the  fierceness  and 
fidelity  of  his  favorite  dog,  his  bulwark  of  safety  failed  him. 
The  dog  very  perversely  died,  and  his  master  was  driven  to 
the  disagreeable  alternative  of  officiating  in  the  place  of  the 
deceased  functionary,  by  imitating  the  canine  service — going 
his  rounds  every  evening  and  barking  as  well  as  any  human 
dog  could  be  expected  to  do. 

M.  Yandille,  of  Paris,  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  in¬ 
stances  on  record  of  immense  wealth  being  combined  with  ex¬ 
treme  penuriousness ;  he  lodged  as  high  up  as  the  roof  would 
admit,  as  certain  poor  poets  are  said  to  do,  and  lived  on  stale 
bread  and  diluted  milk ;  notwithstanding  he  possessed  great 
property  in  the  public  funds.  Chancellor  Hardwicke,  when 
worth  £800,000,  set  the  same  miserly  value  on  a  shilling  as 
when  he  possessed  but  £100  ;  and  the  great  Duke  of  Marlbo¬ 
rough,  when  near  the  close  of  life,  was  in  the  habit  of  exhibit¬ 
ing  singular  meanness  to  save  a  sixpence,  although  his  pro¬ 
perty  was  over  a  million  and  a  half  sterling.  The  cases  we 
have  adduced  are  extreme  instances  of  the  influence  of  avar¬ 
ice  ;  but  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the  principle  of  cove¬ 
tousness  is  the  same  in  its  tendency  wherever  it  exists,  and  it  is 
only  in  consequence  of  the  counteracting  force  of  circumstan- 


264 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


ces  that  all  its  victims  fail  to  present  the  same  degree  of  degra¬ 
dation  and  wretched  moral  deformity. 

More  recently,  we  read  of  an  instance  which  occurred  at 
Newby,  in  Westmoreland.  This  individual,  when  a  young 
man,  became  possessed  of  a  little  property  ;  he  worked  as  a 
laborer,  and  added  to  his  store  ;  through  a  long  series  of  years 
he  scraped  and  saved,  denying  himself  every  comfort  and 
almost  real  necessaries.  During  his  latter  years  he  lived  in  a 
cottage  alone,  in  the  most  wretched  style.  Several  estates  had 
been  mortgaged  to  him ;  and  a  box  which  he  kept  at  the  foot 
of  his  bed,  and  upon  which  his  eyes  were  fixed  when  dying, 
contained  money  and  securities  of  the  value  of  £20,000. 

The  well-known  Nat.  Bently  (alias  Dirty  Dick)  of  London, 
belongs  to  this  category.  This  eccentric  specimen  of  humanity 
was  the  victim  not  only  to  a  craving  for  gold,  but  also  for  old 
iron.  We  have  a  dim  recollection  of  the  dingy  old  shop  in 
Leadenliall  street,  piled  up  with  heaps  of  all  kinds  of  old  iron 
and  lumber.  The  last  twenty  years  of  his  miserable  existence 
were  spent  in  dirt  and  destitution.  Another  deplorable 
case  might  be  cited — that  of  Thomas  Pitt,  of  Warwickshire. 
All  his  solicitude  was  about  his  money ;  his  pulse  rose  and  fell 
with  the  public  funds.  lie  lived  over  thirty  years  ensconced 
in  a  gloomy  garret,  never  enlivened  with  light  of  lamp  or  fire, 
or  the  cheering  smile  of  friendship.  It  is  reported,  that  some 
weeks  prior  to  the  sickness  which  terminated  his  despicable 
career,  he  went  to  several  undertakers  in  quest  of  a  cheap  cof¬ 
fin!  As  he  lived  without  the  regards,  so  he  died  without  the 
regrets,  of  his  neighbors — a  miserable  illustration  of  the  cor¬ 
rupting  influence  of  cupidity.  He  left  behind  him  £2,475 
in  the  public  funds.  Another  instance  is  that  of  the  notorious 
Thomas  Cook.  His  ruling  passion  showed  itself  in  all  its  in¬ 
tensity  at  the  close  of  his  life,  for  on  his  physician  intimating 
the  possibility  of  his  not  existing  more  than  five  or  six  days, 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


265 


with  a  fierce  look  of  indignation,  lie  protested  against  the  use¬ 
less  expense  of  sending  him  medicine,  and  charged  the  doctor 
never  to  show  his  face  to  him  again.  This  wretched  man  died 
unlamented  in  his  86th  year — a  long  lease  shamefully  abused 
and  dishonored.  TIis  property  was  estimated  at  about  £130,- 
000  !  How  horribly  debased  a  man  becomes  when  he  surren¬ 
ders  himself  up  to  the  fiendish  passion  for  gain.  His  influence 
is  moral  poison.  Audley  was  another  notorious  instance.  He 
lived  in  the  days  of  the  Stuarts,  and  amassed  much  wealth 
during  the  reign  of  the  first  Charles,  and  the  Protectorate. 
He  made  most  of  his  money  by  usury  and  legal  chican¬ 
ery.  On  one  occasion,  having  obtained  for  fifty  pounds 
the  debt  of  an  insolvent  for  £200 — he  induced  the  party 
under  obligation,  to  sign  a  contract  that  he  should  pay, 
within  twenty  years  from  that  time,  one  penny  progressively 
doubled  on  the  first  day  of  twenty  consecutive  months, 
and  in  case  of  failure,  to  forfeit  £500.  Hot  suspecting 
the  cunningly  devised  cheat,  the  poor  debtor  recommences 
business,  succeeds,  and  at  the  appointed  time  is  called  upon  by 
the  miser  for  the  instalments.  After  making  several  payments, 
he  began  to  figure  up  the  amount  for  which  he  had  made  him¬ 
self  liable,  in  liquidation  of  his  debt  of  £200.  To  what  sum, 
do  you  suppose,  would  his  new  liabilities  amount  ?  To  no  less 
than  £2,180  \  and  to  what  the  aggregate  sum  of  all  these  twen¬ 
ty  monthly  payments  ?  Why,  the  enormous  total  of  four  thou¬ 
sand  three  hundred  and  sixty-six  pounds,  eleven  shillings,  and 
three  pence ! 

Misers  like  to  feast  their  eyes  with  their  treasure,  as  well  as 
to  handle  it.  We  cite  an  instance  from  a  recent  writer,*  to 
this  effect.  It  is  an  anecdote  related  of  Sir  William  Smyth, 
of  Bedfordshire.  He  was  immensely  rich,  but  most  parsimo¬ 
nious  and  miserly  in  his  habits.  At  seventy  years  of  age,  he 


*  Merryweather. 


266 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


was  entirely  deprived  of  liis  sight,  unable  to  gloat  over  his 
hoarded  heaps  of  gold ;  this  was  a  terrible  affliction.  He  was 
persuaded  by  Taylor,  the  celebrated  oculist,  to  be  couched ; 
who  was,  by  agreement,  to  have  sixty  guineas  if  lie  restored 
his  patient  to  any  degree  of  sight.  Taylor  succeeded  in  his 
operation,  and  Sir  William  was  enabled  to  read  and  write, 
without  the  aid  of  spectacles,  during  the  rest  of  his  life.  But 
no  sooner  was  his  sight  restored,  than  the  baronet  began  to 
regret  that  his  agreement  had  been  for  so  large  a  sum ;  he  felt 
no  joy  as  others  would  have  felt,  but  grieved  and  sighed  over 
the  loss  of  his  sixty  guineas.  His  thoughts  were  now  how  to 
cheat  the  oculist ;  he  pretended  that  he  had  only  a  glimmering 
and  could  'see  nothing  distinctly ;  for  which  reason,  the  ban¬ 
dage  on  his  eyes  was  continued  a  month  longer  than  the  usual 
time.  Taylor  wTas  deceived  by  these  misrepresentations,  and 
agreed  to  compound  the  bargain,  and  accepted  twenty  guineas, 
instead  of  sixty.  At  the  time  Taylor  attended  him,  he  had  a 
large  estate,  an  immense  sum  of  money  in  the  stocks,  and  six 
thousand  pounds  in  the  house. 

Our  last  citation  exhibits  an  involuntary  case  of  immolation 
to  Moloch. 

A  miser,  of  the  name  of  Foscue,  who  had  amassed  enormous 
wealth  by  the  most  sordid  parsimony  and  discreditable  extor¬ 
tion,  was  requested  by  the  government  to  advance  a  sum  of 
money,  as  a  loan.  The  miser,  to  whom  a  fair  interest  was  not 
inducement  sufficiently  strong  to  enable  him  to  part  with  his 
treasured  gold,  declared  his  incapacity  to  meet  this  demand  ;  he 
pleaded  severe  losses,  and  the  utmost  poverty.  Fearing,  how¬ 
ever,  that  some  of  his  neighbors,  among  whom  he  was  very  un¬ 
popular,  would  report  his  immense  wealth  to  the  government, 
he  applied  his  ingenuity  to  discover  some  effectual  wTay  of  hid¬ 
ing  his  gold,  should  they  attempt  to  institute  a  search  to 
ascertain  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  his  plea.  With  great  care 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


267 


and  secrecy,  he  dog  a  great  cave  in  his  cellar  ;  to  this  recepta¬ 
cle  for  his  treasure  he  descended  by  a  ladder,  and  to  the  trap¬ 
door  he  attached  a  spring-lock,  so  that,  on  shutting,  it  would 
fasten  of  itself.  By  and  by  the  miser  disappeared :  inquiries 
were  made ;  the  house  was  searched ;  woods  were  explored, 
and  the  ponds  were  dragged  :  but  no  Foscue  could  they  find ; 
and  gossips  began  to  conclude  that  the  miser  had  fled,  with  his 
gold,  to  some  part  where,  by  living  incognito,  he  would  be  free 
from  the  hands  of  the  government.  Some  time  passed  on ;  the 
house  in  which  he  had  lived  was  sold,  and  workmen  were 
busily  employed  in  its  repair.  In  the  progress  of  their  work 
they  met  with  the  door  of  the  secret  cave,  with  the  key  in  the 
lock  outside.  They  threw  back  the  door,  and  descended  with 
a  light.  The  first  object  upon  which  the  lamp  reflected  was 
the  ghastly  body  of  Foscue,  the  miser,  and  scattered  around 
him  were  heavy  bags  of  gold,  and  ponderous  chests  of  untold 
treasure;  a  candlestick  lay  beside  him  on  the  floor.  This 
worshipper  of  Mammon  had  gone  into  his  cave,  to  pay  his 
devoirs  to  his  golden  god,  and  had  thus  become  a  sacrifice  to 
his  devotion ! 

Occasionally,  these  wretched  monopolizers  of  money  are 
really  more  indulgent  to  the  world  than  to  themselves.  Guyot 
of  Marseilles,  was  a  despised  tatterdemalion  all  his  life,  yet 
many  benefited  by  his  parsimony.  Ilis  executors,  on  opening 
his  will,  found  these  remarkable  words :  “  Having  observed, 
from  my  infancy,  that  the  poor  of  Marseilles  are  ill-supplied 
with  water,  which  can  only  be  procured  at  a  great  price,  I  have 
cheerfully  labored  the  whole  of  my  life  to  procure  for  them 
this  great  blessing,  and  I  direct  that  the  whole  of  my  property 
shall  be  expended  in  building  an  aqueduct  for  their  use  ”  ! 

"We  might  here  glance  at  the  effects  of  an  opposite  disposition, 
as  illustrated  in  a  few  examples  of  distinguished  benevolence. 
Alfred  the  Great,  among  other  noble  traits  of  character,  ex- 


268 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


hibited,  on  a  certain  occasion,  an  instance  of  exemplary 
sympathy  for  suffering,  under  circumstances  which  tested 
unequivocally  the  goodness  of  his  heart.  Shortly  after  the 
retreat  from  his  enemies,  a  beggar  came  to  his  little  castle, 
soliciting  alms.  The  queen  informed  him  that  they  had  but 
one  small  loaf  remaining,  which  was  insufficient  for  themselves 
and  their  friends,  who  were  gone  in  quest  of  food,  though  with 
little  hope  of  success.  The  king  replied,  “  Give  the  poor 
Christian  one-half  of  the  loaf.  He  that  could  feed  five  thou¬ 
sand  with  five  loaves  and  two  fishes,  can  certainly  make  that 
half-loaf  suffice  for  more  than  our  necessity.”  His  fortitude 
and  faith  were  rewarded,  for  the  messengers  and  adherents 
of  the  monarch  soon  after  returned  with  a  liberal  supply  of 
provisions.  The  late  king  of  Prussia  affords  another  instance 
of  benevolence.  On  a  certain  occasion  lie  rang  the  bell  of  his 
cabinet,  but,  as  nobody  answered,  he  opened  the  door  of  the 
ante-cliamber,  and  found  his  page  fast  asleep  upon  a  chair. 
He  went  up  to  awake  him  ;  but,  on  coming  nearer,  he  observed 
a  paper  in  his  pocket  upon  which  something  was  written. 
This  excited  his  curiosity.  He  pulled  it  out,  and  found  that  it 
was  a  letter  from  the  page’s  mother,  the  contents  of  which  were 
nearly  as  follows :  “  She  returned  her  son  many  thanks  for  the 
money  he  had  saved  out  of  his  salary,  and  sent  to  her,  and 
which  had  proved  a  very  timely  assistance.  God  would  cer¬ 
tainly  reward  him  for  it,  and,  if  he  continued  to  serve  God  and 
his  king  faithfully  and  conscientiously,  he  would  not  fail  of 
success  and  prosperity  in  this  world.”  Upon  reading  this  the 
king  stepped  softly  into  his  closet,  fetched  a  rouleau  of  ducats, 
and  put  it,  with  the  letter,  into  the  page’s  pocket.  He  then 
rang  the  bell  again,  till  the  page  awoke,  and  came  into  his 
closet.  “  You  have  been  asleep,  I  suppose  ?  ”  said  the  king. 
The  page  could  not  deny  it,  stammered  out  an  excuse  (in  his 
embarrassment),  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  felt  the 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


260 


rouleau  of  ducats.  lie  immediately  pulled  it  out,  turned  pale, 
and  looked  at  the  king  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  “  What  is  the 
matter  with  you?”  said  the  king.  “Oh,”  replied  the  page, 
“somebody  has  contrived  my  ruin:  I  know  nothing  of  this 
money!”  “What  God  bestows,”  resumed  the  king,  “  he  be¬ 
stows  in  sleep.  Send  the  money  to  your  mother — give  my  re¬ 
spects  to  her,  and  inform  her  that  I  will  take  care  both  of  her 
and  vou.” 

t / 

Take  a  passage  from  the  Life  of  Washington  :  “Reuben 
Rouzy,  of  Virginia,  owed  the  general  about  one  thousand 
pounds.  While  President  of  the  United  States,  one  of  his 
agents  brought  an  action  for  the  money;  judgment  was  ob¬ 
tained,  and  execution  issued  against  the  body  of  the  defendant, 
who  was  taken  to  jail.  He  had  a  considerable  landed  estate, 
but  this  kind  of  property  cannot  be  sold  in  Virginia  for  debts, 
unless  at  the  discretion  of  the  owner.  He  had  a  laro;e  family, 
and  for  the  sake  of  his  children,  preferred  lying  in  jail  to 
selling  his  land.  A  friend  hinted  to  him  that  probably  Gen¬ 
eral  Washington  did  not  know  anything  of  the  proceeding,  and 
that  it  might  be  well  to  send  him  a  petition,  with  a  statement 
of  the  circumstances.  lie  did  so,  and  the  very  next  post  from 
Philadelphia,  after  the  arrival  of  his  petition  in  that  city, 
brought  an  order  for  his  immediate  release,  together  with  a 
full  discharge,  and  a  severe  reprimand  to  the  agent,  for  having 
acted  in  such  a  manner.  Poor  Rouzy  was,  in  consequence, 
restored  to  his  family,  who  never  laid  down  their  heads  at 
night  without  presenting  prayers  to  Heaven  for  their  6  beloved 
Washington.’  Providence  smiled  upon  the  labors  of  the 
grateful  family,  and  in  a  few  years  Rouzy  enjoyed  the  exqui¬ 
site  pleasure  of  being  able  to  lay  the  one  thousand  pounds, 
with  the  interest,  at  the  feet  of  this  truly  great  man.  Wash¬ 
ington  reminded  him  that  the  debt  was  discharged;  Rouzy 
replied,  the  debt  of  his  family  to  the  father  of  their  country, 


270 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


and  the  preserver  of  their  parent,  could  never  be  discharged : 
and  the  general  to  avoid  the  pleasing  importunity  of  the  grate¬ 
ful  Virginian,  who  would  not  be  denied,  accepted  the  money, 
only,  however,  to  divide  it  among  Rouzy’s  children,  which  he 
immediately  did.” 

There  is  an  interesting  fact  related  of  the  hero  of  Poland, 
indicative  of  his  customary  practice  of  alms-giving.  Wishing 
to  convey  a  present  to  a  clerical  friend,  he  gave  the  commission 
to  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Teltner,  desiring  him  to  take 
the  horse  which  he  himself  usually  rode.  On  his  return,  the 
messenger  informed  Kosciusko  that  he  would  never  again  ride 
his  horse  unless  he  gave  him  his  purse  at  the  same  time  ;  and 
on  the  latter  inquiring  what  he  meant,  he  replied  :  “  As  soon 

as  a  poor  man  on  the  road  takes  off  his  hat  and  asks  charity, 
the  animal  immediately  stands  still,  and  will  not  stir  till  some¬ 
thing  is  bestowed  upon  the  petitioner ;  and  as  I  had  no  money 
about  me,  I  had  to  feign  giving  in  order  to  satisfy  the  horse, 
and  induce  him  to  proceed.”  This  noble  creature  deserved  a 
pension  and  exemption  from  active  service  for  the  term  of  his 
natural  life,  on  account  of  his  superior  education  and  refined 
moral  sensibility. 

Among  the  bright  galaxy  of  noble  names,  that  of  John 
Howard  will  ever  take  prominent  rank  in  the  list  of  benefac¬ 
tors.  After  inspecting  the  receptacles  of  crime  and  poverty 
throughout  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  he  left  his  native  coun¬ 
try,  relinquishing  his  own  ease,  to  visit  the  wretched  abodes  of 
those  who  were  in  want,  and  were  bound  in  fetters  of  iron,  in  ’ 
other  parts  of  the  world.  He  travelled  three  times  through 
Prance,  four  through  Germany,  five  through  Holland,  twice 
through  Italy,  once  through  Spain,  and  Portugal,  Russia, 
Sweden,  Denmark,  and  part  of  Turkey — occupying  a  period  of 
about  twelve  years.  Without  the  few  bright  spots  in  the 
world’s  arid  waste  of  selfishness,  that  occasionally  irradiate  the 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


271 


gloomy  lot  of  the  oppressed  arid  poor,  what  a  dreary  life  of 
deprivation  and  sorrow  would  be  their  portion. 

“  He  who  knows,  like  St.  Paul,  both  how  to  suffer  need,  and 
how  to  abound,  has  a  great  knowledge ;  for  if  we  take  account 
of  all  the  virtues  with  which  money  is  mixed  up — honesty, 
justice,  generosity,  charity,  frugality,  forethought,  self-sacrifice 
— and  of  their  correlative  vices,  it  is  a  knowledge  which  goes 
near  to  cover  the  length  and  breadth  of  humanity ;  and  a  right 
measure  and  manner  in  getting,  saving,  spending,  giving,  tak¬ 
ing,  lending,  borrowing,  and  bequeathing,  would  almost  argue 
a  perfect  man.”  * 

We  must  not  forget  that,  while  some  few  abuse  wealth, 
there  are  vastly  more  who  know  its  appropriate  use  and  worth. 
With  such,  money  is  the  procurer  of  our  common  blessings. 
Money  is  then  the  universal  talisman,  the  mainspring  of  our 
social  system,  the  lever  that  moves  the  world.  Some  moderns, 
like  Socrates  (who  wrote  in  praise  of  poverty  on  a  table  of 
solid  gold),  cynically  speak  against  wealth.  It  is,  however,  the 
great  motive  agent  in  all  departments  of  the  social  economy ; 
helping  on  the  civilization  of  the  world,  and  ministering  not 
merely  to  the  elegances,  but  also  the  essentials  of  life.  Money 
represents  labor.  An  eloquent  writer f  asks  “who  can  ade¬ 
quately  describe  the  triumphs  of  labor,  urged  on  by  the  potent 
spell  of  money  ?  It  has  extorted  the  secrets  of  the  universe, 
and  trained  its  powers  into  myriads  of  forms  of  use  and  beauty. 
From  the  bosom  of  the  old  creation,  it  has  developed  anew  the 
creation  of  industry  and  art.  It  has  been  its  task  and  its 
glory  to  overcome  obstacles.  Mountains  have  been  levelled, 
and  valleys  been  exalted  before  it.  It  has  broken  the  rocky 
soil  into  fertile  glades ;  it  has  crowned  the  hill-tops  with  fruit 
and  verdure,  and  bound  around  the  very  feet  of  ocean,  ridges 
of  golden  corn.  Up  from  the  sunless  and  hoary  deeps,  up 

*  Notes  on  Life,  f  Chapin. 


272 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 


from  tlie  shapeless  quarry,  it  drags  its  spotless  marbles,  and 
rears  its  palaces  of  pomp.  It  tears  the  stubborn  metals  from 
the  bowels  of  the  globe,  and  makes  them  ductile  to  its  will. 
It  marches  steadily  on  over  the  swelling  flood,  and  through  the 
mountain  clefts.  It  fans  its  way  through  the  winds  of  ocean, 
tramples  them  in  its  course,  surges  and  mingles  them  with 
flakes  of  fire.  Civilization  follows  in  its  paths.  It  achieves 
grander  victories,  it  weaves  more  durable  trophies,  it  holds 
wider  sway  than  the  conqueror.  Ilis  name  becomes  tainted 
and  his  monuments  crumble;  hut  labor  converts  his  red  battle¬ 
fields  into  gardens,  and  erects  monuments  significant  of  better 
things.  It  rides  in  a  chariot  driven  by  the  wind.  It  writes 
with  the  lightning.  It  sits  crowned  as  a  queen  in  a  thousand 
cities,  and  sends  up  its  roar  of  triumph  from  a  million  wheels. 
It  glistens  in  the  fabric  of  the  loom,  it  rings  and  sparkles  from 
the  steely  hammer,  it  glories  in  shapes  of  beauty ;  it  speaks  in 
words  of  power,  it  makes  the  sinewy  arm  strong  with  liberty, 
the  poor  man’s  heart  rich  with  content,  crowns  the  swarthy 
and  sweaty  brow  with  honor,  and  dignity,  and  peace.” 

We  have  not  mentioned  a  class  who  have  been  styled  par¬ 
venu,  such  as  have  acquired  wealth,  and  with  it  the  vulgar 
passion  for  display.  Such  characters  are  to  be  found  in  all 
communities,  but  especially  in  those  of  recent  formation.  Un¬ 
less  culture  and  refinement  accompany  the  possession  of  great 
wealth,  the  deformity  is  but  the  more  obtrusive. 

“  Worth  makes  the  man,  the  want  of  it  the  fellow, 

The  rest  is  naught  but  leather  and  prunello.” 

A  gentleman  has  been  defined  “  a  Christian  in  spirit  that 
will  take  a  polish.”  The  rest  are  but  plated  goods,  and,  what¬ 
ever  their  fashion,  rub  them  as  you  may,  the  base  metal  will 
show  itself  still. 

Whether  in  ermine  or  fustian,  there  is  no  disguising  char- 


* 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH.  273 

acter  ;  the  refined  may  be  seen  in  the  latter,  as  palpably  as  the 
vulgar  in  the  former : 

11  You  may  daub  and  bedizen  the  man  as  you  will, 

But  tbe  stamp  of  the  vulgar  remains  on  him  still.” 

It  is  from  this  class  that  virtuous  poverty  has  most  to  suffer. 
These  are  they  who  u  grind  the  faces  of  the  poor,”  who,  not¬ 
withstanding  the  proverb  that  “  poverty  is  no  crime,”  yet  treat 
a  man  without  money  as  if  he  were  without  principle ;  who 
gauge  the  wit  and  worth  of  a  man  by  his  wearing-apparel  and 
his  wealth ;  who  deem  it  absurd  for  a  poor  man  to  assert  his 
possession  of  intelligence,  learning,  or,  in  fact,  any  endowment 
whatever.  Goldsmith,  referring  to  this  depreciating  influence 
of  poverty,  says, — “A  poor  man  resembles  a  fiddler,  whose 
music,  though  liked,  is  not  much  praised,  because  he  lives  by 
it ;  while  a  gentleman  performer,  though  the  most  wretched 
scraper  alive,  throws  the  audience  into  raptures.” 

The  want  of  money  but  deprives  us  of  friends  not  worth  the 
keeping  ;  it  cuts  us  out  of  society,  to  which  dress  and  equipage 
are  the  only  introduction,  and  deprives  ns  of  a  number  of  need¬ 
less  luxuries  and  gilded  fetters. 

That  which  was  so  diligently  sought  by  the  alchemists  of  old, 
the  contented  man  has  discovered.  Contentment  is  the  true 
philosopher’s  stone  which  transmutes  all  it  touches  to  gold  ;  and 
the  divine  maxim,  that  “  a  man’s  life  consisteth  not  in  the 
abundance  of  the  things  which  he  possesseth,”  is  a  golden 
maxim. 

“  Why  need  I  strive  or  sigh  for  wealth  ?  v 
It  is  enough  for  me 

That  Heaven  hath  sent  me  strength  and  health, 

A  spirit  glad  and  free  ; 

Grateful  these  blessings  to  receive, 

I  sing  my  hymn  at  mom  and  eve.” 

Of  all  the  artificial  distinctions  which  obtain  in  civilized 
18 


274 


f 


THE  MODERN  MOLOCH. 

life,  none  are  more  absolute  in  their  nature,  or  tyrannical  in 
their  effects,  than  those  which  divide  the  poor  from  the  rich. 
Difference  of  condition  tends  more  to  disturb  the  harmony  of 
the  social  compact,  and  to  annihilate  the  common  sympathies 
of  mankind,  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 

“  A  poor  relation,”  according  to  Charles  Lamb,  “is  the  most 
irrelevant  thing  in  nature — an  unwelcome  remembrancer — a 
perpetually-recurring  mortification — a  drain  on  your  purse, 
a  more  intolerable  dun  than  your  pride — a  drawback  upon 
success.” 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


“  A  spot  near  Cripplegate  extends — 

Grub  Street, — ’tis  called  the  modern  Pindus ; 

Where  (not  that  bards  are  never  friends) 

Bards  might  shake  hands  from  adverse  windows.” — Butler. 

The  subject  of  the  present  chapter  presents  some  of  the 
various  fallacies  and  foibles  of  the  literary  profession.  With 
out  attempting  a  psychological  analysis  of  literary  life,  we 
propose  simply  to  group  together  a  few  of  the  more  striking 
idiosyncrasies  which  seem  to  be  indigenous  to  great  minds. 
If  frailty  and  fame  are  twin  attributes,  one  might  be  tempted 
to  conclude  that  Nature  designed  such  an  allotment  as  an  equi¬ 
poise,  to  silence  the  envy  of  those  from  whom  she  has  with¬ 
held  her  noblest  endowments,  and  to  serve  as  a  counteracting 


270 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


check  to  the  inordinate  self-esteem  which  their  possession 
might  otherwise  superinduce. 

Possession  of  the  creative  faculty,  says  Leigh  Hunt,  pre¬ 
supposes  a  superiority  to  adverse  circumstances  and  “  low- 
thoughted  care.” 

So  it  was  with  Fielding,  Steele,  and  others,  honorable  in  lit¬ 
erature,  and  so  also  with  Handel,  Mozart,  and  Weber,  in 
music ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  kindly  compensations  of  Nature,  by 
which  she  contrives  to  adjust  so  equitably  the  good  and  the 
evil  of  this  life,  that  when  injury  to  the  individual  arises  from 
an  excess  of  sympathy  with  the  mass,  that  injury  is  commonly 
but  lightly  felt.  It  is  yet  affecting  to  think  that  during  the 
composition  of  his  great  masterpieces,  Mozart  was  scarcely 
supplied  with  the  necessaries  of  life ;  and  Handel’s  immortal 
oratorios  were  produced  under  similar  circumstances. 

It  is  supposed,  and  with  great  reason,  that  but  for  these  pre¬ 
cise  circumstances,  men  of  genius,  naturally  indolent,  would 
not  have  achieved  so  much,  or  so  well ;  under  more  favorable 
auspices  their  energies  would  have  remained  dormant  for  lack 
of  stimulus.  Burns  was  an  instance  of  an  author  writing  for 
love,  and  not  for  money,  for  he  got  little  pecuniary  reward  for 
his  exquisite  effusions,  and  was  ever  in  embarrassments. 

How  many  an  immortal  work  that  has  proved  a  revenue  of 
enjoyment  to  the  world  has  been  born  amid  dire  affliction  and 
privation!  Think  of  almost  all  the  inventors,  in  science  and 
song, — from  Roger  Bacon,  the  friar,  to  whom  we  owe  the 
discoveries  of  gunpowder  and  the  telescope, — down  to  the  in¬ 
ventors  of  the  cotton-gin  and  the  sewing-machine.  Think, 
also,  of  Milton,  the  prince  of  poets, — inditing  his  vision  of 
Paradise  in  blindness  and  destitution, — and  of  Dryden,  sunk 
into  neglect  in  his  old  age,  having  died  in  a  garret,  in  an 
obscure  corner  of  London. 

Pity  that  the  awards  of  fame  should .  come  so  laggardly  to 


INFELICITIES  OF  AETHORCRAFT. 


277 


her  true  votaries  ;  but  so  it  is.  In  how  many  cases  has  it  been 
proven  that  the  only  requitals  of  transcendent  genius  have  been 
poverty,  dishonor,  and  sometimes  an  inglorious  end  ;  leaving  it 
to  after  times  to  repair  the  injustice  of  lordly  ignorance  and 
superstitious  intolerance!  Friar  Bacon,  the  parent  of  more 
original  discoveries  than  any  one  of  his  day,  as  already 
referred  to,  committed  this  treason  against  his  contemporaries, 
and  in  consequence  enlisted  their  persecution. 

The  storm  is  better  for  the  development  of  genius  than  the 
calm.  "We  are  told  by  naturalists,  that  birds  of  paradise  fly 
best  against  the  wind ;  it  drifts  behind  them  the  gorgeous 
train  of  feathers,  which  only  entangle  their  flight  with  the  gale. 
Pure  imagination,  of  which  the  loveliest  of  winged  creatures 
is  the  fitting  emblem,  seems  always  to  gain  a  vigor  and  grace 
by  the  tempests  it  encounters. 

So  the  flower,  when  crushed,  emits  its  richest  fragrance ; 
and  the  grape,  when  bruised,  the  richest  wine.  To  the  poor 
author,  the  ordeal  is  severe,  while  it  is  yet  the  procuring  cause 
of  much  of  the  intellectual  wealth  of  the  world. 

Fickle  Fortune  has  often  dealt  unfairly  with  the  sons  of 
genius.  They  generally  get  more  credit  than  cash  as  the  awards 
of  their  toil.  It  has  been  justly  claimed  for  these  gifted  un¬ 
fortunates,  that  when  even  Fame  will  not  protect  them  from 
Famine,  Charity  ought.  This,  certainly,  is  but  just  tribute, 
due  to  noble  service  rendered.  Camoens , — the  pride  of  Por¬ 
tugal,  and  Cervantes , — the  immortal  genius  of  Spain,  alike 
wanted  bread,  while  they  furnished  literary  food  to  the  whole 
civilized  family  of  man.  Vondel ,  the  Shakspeare  of  Holland, 
died,  as  he  had  lived,  in  great  poverty ;  his  coffin,  however, 
was  conveyed  to  the  grave  by  fourteen  poets,  with  every  dem¬ 
onstration  of  respect.  The  great  Tasso  was  compelled  to 
solicit  pecuniary  aid  for  his  very  subsistence.  He  thus  patheti¬ 
cally  alludes  to  his  distress,  when  entreating  his  cat  to  assist 


278 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


him  during  the  night  with  the  lustre  of  her  eyes, — “  Non 
ovendo  candele  per  inscrivere  i  suovi  versi  !  ”  (having  no  can¬ 
dle  to  see  to  write  his  verses  by.) 

What  shall  we  say  of  the  heartless  ingratitude  shown  to  the 
intellectual,  magnanimous,  and  humane  Bentivoglio,  who,  when 
reduced  to  the  extremest  distress,  caused  by  his  own  munifi¬ 
cence,  was  actually  refused  admission  into  the  very  hospital 
himself  had  erected. 

“  Thus  birds  for  others  build  the  downy  nest ; 

Thus  sheep  for  others  bear  the  fleecy  vest ; 

Thus  bees  collect  for  others  honey’d  food  ; 

Thus  ploughs  the  patient  ox  for  others’  good.” 

How  much  imperishable  literature  has  been  engendered 
within  prison-walls :  Boethius ,  in  prison  composed  his  excel¬ 
lent  “  Consolations  of  Philosophy ; 55  and  Grotius ,  his  “  Com¬ 
mentary.”  Cervantes ,  it  is  said,  wrote  that  masterpiece  of 
Spanish  romance,  u  Don  Quixote,”  on  board  one  of  the  gal¬ 
leys,  in  Barbary :  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  compiled  his  “  Plis- 
tory  of  the  World”  in  his  prison-chamber  of  the  Tower;  while 
John  Bung  an  composed  his  immortal  allegory  in  Bedford 
jail:  and  Luther  gave  the  Bible  to  Germany,  having  trans¬ 
lated  it  in  Wartburg  castle. 

D’Israeli  justly  remarks,  that  “those  who  have  labored 
most  zealously  to  instruct  mankind,  have  been  those  who  have 
suffered  most  from  ignorance ;  and  the  discoverers  of  new 
arts  and  sciences  have  hardly  ever  lived  to  see  them  accepted 
by  the  world.”  Until  Galileo  and  Harvey  appeared,  both  the 
earth  and  the  blood  were  supposed  to  be  immovable ;  for  de¬ 
nying  which,  the  first-named  was  persecuted,  and  the  other 
ridiculed.  Among  the  classic  authors,  Socrates  and  Aristotle 
were  the  victims  of  poison  ;  while  Anaxagoras  and  others 
were  imprisoned.  Those  pioneer  chemists  and  mathematicians, 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


279 


Cornelius  Agrippa  and  Roger  Bacon,  were  branded  as 
magicians,  because  they  knew  too  much.  “  If  the  metaphy¬ 
sician  stood  a  chance  of  being  burnt  as  a  heretic,  the  natural 
philosopher  was  not  in  less  jeopardy  of  exile,  as  a  magician. 
The  ordeal  of  fire  was  the  great  purifier  of  books  and  men.”  * 
This  persecution  of  science  and  genius  lasted  till  the  close  of 
the  seventeenth  century. 

Referring  to  the  infelicities  of  authors,  one  is  reminded  of 
the  memorable  crisis  in  the  career  of  Goldsmith ,  when  under 
arrest  for  rent.  What  a  tableau  is  here  presented  to  us — two 
of  the  foremost  men  of  letters  of  their  day  meeting  together 
under  circumstances  of  such  peculiar  and  touching  interest. 

Boswell  gives  us  so  graphic  a  sketch  of  Goldsmith’s  inter¬ 
view  with  Johnson,  that  we  reproduce  it  entire  :  Dr.  Johnson 
said,  “  I  received  one  morning  a  message  from  poor  Goldsmith 
that  he  was  in  great  distress,  and,  as  it  was  not  in  his  power  to 
come  to  me,  begged  that  I  would  come  to  him  as  soon  as  possi¬ 
ble.  I  sent  him  a  guinea,  and  promised  to  come  to  him  di¬ 
rectly.  I  accordingly  went  as  soon  as  I  was  dressed,  and  found 
that  his  landlady  had  arrested  him  for  his  rent,  at  which  he 
was  in  a  violent  passion.  I  perceived  that  he  had  already 
changed  my  guinea,  and  had  got  a  bottle  of  madeira  and  a 
glass  before  him.  I  put  the  cork  into  the  bottle,  desired  he 
would  be  calm,  and  began  to  talk  to  him  of  the  means  by 
which  he  might  be  extricated.  He  then  told  me  that  he  had 
a  novel  ready  for  the  press,  which  he  produced  to  me.  I 
looked  into  it,  and  saw  its  merit ;  told  the  landlady  I  should 
soon  return  ;  and  having  gone  to  a  bookseller,  sold  it  for  sixty 
pounds.  I  brought  Goldsmith  the  money,  and  he  discharged 
his  rent,  not  without  rating  his  landlady  in  a  high  tone  for 
having  used  him  so  ill.”  The  book  was  the  immortal  Vicar 
of  Wakefield. 


*  Hallam. 


280 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


Authors,  like  the  sun,  are  yet  not  without  dark  spots  on  their 
disc!  Aristotle  said,  long  ago,  there  was  no  distinguished 
genius  altogether  exempt  from  some  infusion  of  madness. 
Their  obliquities  are  sometimes  superinduced  by  physical 
causes,  their  overwrought  mental  faculties  causing  their  irri¬ 
tability  of  temperament,  and  feeling  of  indolence  and  languor. 
Thomson  was  a  case  in  point;  he  was  so  reluctant  to  rise  from 
his  bed,  that  when  remonstrated  with,  he  replied :  “  Troth, 
mon,  I  see  nae  motive  for  rising.5’  Pope  would  sometimes  lie 
in  bed  at  Bolingbroke’s  for  whole  days  together.  Calvin  also 
studied  in  his  bed  ;  and  Milton  frequently  composed  lying 
abed  late  in  the  morning.  It  must  be  evident,  however,  that 
such  indolent  habits  must  ultimately  prove  as  injurious  in 
their  influence  upon  the  health,  as  mental  overworking. 
Owen,  who  also  indulged  the  lazy  habit,  once  remarked  that 
he  would  gladly  barter  all  his  learning  obtained  in  bed,  for  his 
lost  health.  A  frequent  concomitant  of  genius  is  that  ready 
susceptibility  to  delusion  and  credulity,  which  seems  to  be  en¬ 
gendered  by  their  enthusiastic  temperament.  Who  would  have 
suspected  Sir  Isaac  Newton  of  a  belief  in  astrology,  or  John¬ 
son  and  Wesley  of  the  weakness  of  a  faith  in  ghosts?  Again, 
what  curious  contradictions  of  character  are  evinced  by  some 
men  of  genius.  Locke,  the  matter-of-fact  philosopher,  revelled 
in  Action;  Hobbes,  the  deist,  was  a  believer  in  ghosts  and 
spiritual  existences ;  and  Lord  Bacon  has  been  described  as 
“the  wisest,  greatest,  meanest  of  mankind.” 

If  it  be  fair  to  peer  into  the  private  life  of  authorship,  we 
shall  find  there  many  ludicrous  idiosyncrasies  of  character. 
Johnson  evinced  his  nervous  irritability  by  biting  his  nails  to 
the  quick  ;  but  let  it  be  remembered,  that  he  was  once  found 
in  the  most  desponding  hopelessness  in  a  garret,  destitute  of 
even  ink,  paper,  and  pen  with  which  to  transcribe  his  lucubra¬ 
tions. 


INFELICITIES  OF  ATJTHORCRAFT. 


281 


As  a  rale,  our  greatest  wits  have  not  been  men  of  a  gay  and 
vivacious  disposition,  but  the  opposite  :  such  were  Swift,  Butler, 
Byron,  Hood,  and  many  others.  Swift  was  never  known  to 
smile ;  of  the  private  history  of  Butler,  author  of  Hudibras , 
little  remains  but  the  records  of  his  miseries;  Byron  was  a 
wretched  misanthrope,  at  issue  with  himself,  his  Maker,  and 
mankind  ;  and  Hood  was  overcharged  with  sudorous  brain- 
work,  under  the  pressure  of  poverty  and  sickness.  There  is  a 
ludicrous  illustration  of  this  seeming  freak  of  Nature,  in  the 
instance  of  Liston,  the  comedian,  who,  one  day  in  a  fit  of 
melancholy,  applying  to  Abernethy  for  some  cure  of  his  distem¬ 
per,  was  told  by  that  eccentric  physician  “  to  go  and  see  Liston  ” ! 

D’lsraeli  has  a  diverting  chapter  on  the  amusements  of 
authors.  Angling  was  with  Izaak  Walton,  indeed,  more  than 
a  mere  pastime  ;  its  tranquil  employment  was  also  the  favorite 
diversion  of  Paley,  and  many  more  contemplative  minds,  as 
well  as  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  who  styled  the  pursuit  “  idle  time 
not  idly  spent.” 

Others  asrain  indulged  strange  vagaries  and  humors  ; — such 
as  Menage,  who,  while  science  covered  his  head  with  laurels, 
used  to  cover  his  feet  with  several  pairs  of  stockings.  Pope 
used  to  brace  himself  up  with  corsets. 

It  is  said  that  the  learned  Magliabecchi,  librarian  to  the 
Duke  of  Tuscany,  used  to  divert  himself  in  intervals  of  leisure 
with  teasing  spiders.  Bousseau,  when  doomed  to  the  company 
of  the  common-place,  is  said  to  have  amused  himself  with 
knitting  lace-strings,  which  he  evidently  preferred  to  long 
yarns.  With  all  due  respect  to  those  of  high  intellectual  en¬ 
dowments,  we  must  admit  that  they  are  sometimes  sadly  defi¬ 
cient  in  that  also  rare  attribute,  common-sense.  Hence,  to  this 
cause  may  be  traced  their  oft  pecuniary  embarrassments  and 
privations.  Goldsmith  was  a  prince  with  his  pen,  but  an 
idiot  without  it.  Then,  again,  it  must  also  be  conceded  that 


282 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCEAFT. 


the  literary  profession  is  not  superior  to  envy,  malice,  and  un- 
charitableness  ;  but  on  the  contrary  is  terribly  tormented  with 
them.  The  republic  of  letters  is  said  to  be  the  most  factious  and 
discordant  of  all  republics,  ancient  or  modern.  The  literary 
world  is  made  up  of  little  confederacies  or  cliques,  each  look¬ 
ing  upon  its  own  party  as  the  tixed  intellectual  luminaries  of 
society,  and  regarding  all  others  as  mere  transient  meteors  that 
flash  for  a  moment  and — expire. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  also  admit,  that  some  of  the  most 
celebrated  authors  have  been  of  all  men  the  least  self-asserting 
and  demonstrative.  Such  in  the  foremost  rank  were,  as  we  all 
know,  Washington  Irving,  Sir  Isaac  Yewton,  John  Milton,  and 
many  who  might  be  added  to  the  category. 

Appearances  are  not  always  to  be  relied  upon :  it  is  related 
of  the  celebrated  poet  of  Holland — Beldeych,  that  in  his  early 
days  he  was  so  careless  and  idle  as  to  cause  his  father  great 
anxiety;  and  that  one  day,  with  the  hope  of  stimulating  him  to 
some  ambition,  he  showed  him  the  advertisement  of  a  prize 
offered  by  the  Society  of  Leyden,  which  had  been  decreed  to  the 
author  of  a  piece  signed  with  the  words,  “  An  author  eighteen 
years  old,'5  who  was  invited  to  make  himself  known.  “  You 
ought  to  blush,  idler,”  said  the  father;  “here  is  a  boy  who  is 
only  of  your  age,  and  though  so  young,  is  the  pride  and  happi¬ 
ness  of  his  parents;  and  you,” — “It’s  myself,”  answered  the  son, 
— and  the  reproaches  of  the  sire  were  soon  exchanged  for  caresses 
and  tears  of  joy.  The  instance  of  the  anonymous  publication 
of  Evelina,  by  Miss  Burney,  is  a  similar  case  of  pleasurable 
discovery  of  authorship.  It  is  interesting  to  note  some  of  the 
books  that  beguiled  some  of  their  readers  into  authorship. 
The  genius  of  Scott  received  its  first  impulse  from  the  perusal 
of  Percy’s  “Beliques  of  Early  English  Poetry ;”  Bogers,  from 
reading  Beattie’s  “  Minstrel ;  ”  Lisle  Bowles’  poetry  stimulated 
the  mind  of  Coleridge. 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


283 


John  Evelyn  was  indebted  for  much  of  his  success  to  his 
amiable  wife,  whose  refined  taste  and  skill  were  equal  to  any 
emergency,  and  whose  breast  was  fired  with  the  same  passion 
that  inflamed  her  husband’s  pen.  The  majority  of  great  men 
seem,  however,  to  have  repudiated  matrimony  altogether, 
probably  from  some  premonition  of  their  disqualification  for 
its  enjoyments.  A  host  of  great  names  occur  to  us,  presenting 
an  astounding  array  of  sturdy  old  bachelors,  enough  to  startle 
the  complacency  of  the  most  charitable  of  the  fair  sex. 
Michael  Angelo,  Boyle,  Newton,  Locke,  Bayle,  Shenstone, 
Leibnitz,  Hobbes,  Voltaire,  Pope,  Adam  Smith,  Swift,  Thom¬ 
son,  Akenside,  Arbuthnot,  Hume,  Gibbon,  Cowper,  Goldsmith, 
Gay,  Lamb,  Washington  Irving,  et  cum  multis  aliis ,  were  all 
decided  for  celibacy.  Michael  Angelo  replied  to  a  remon¬ 
strance  on  the  subject,  that  he  had  espoused  his  art,  and  his 
works  were  his  children.  Dr.  Badclifie  lived  and  died  unmar¬ 
ried,  although  within  five  or  six  years  prior  to  his  decease  he 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  a  patient  of  rank,  wealth,  and 
beauty,  triple  charms  to  fascinate  even  an  old  beau  ;  but  alas 
for  this  gallant  hero,  his  suit  was  non-suited,  and  to  his  morti¬ 
fication  his  rejected  addresses  were  afterward  immortalized  by 
Steele  in  his  “  Tattler.” 

Some  of  the  old  scribes  were  addicted  to  wonderful  pro¬ 
lixity,  their  productions  exceeding  all  bounds.  Epicurus,  we 
are  told,  left  behind  him  three  hundred  volumes  of  his  own 
works,  wherein  he  had  not  inserted  a  single  quotation.  Seneca 
assures  us  that  Didymus,  the  grammarian,  wrote  no  less  than 
four  thousand ;  but  Origen,  it  seems,  was  yet  more  prolific, 
having  written  six  thousand  treatises.  We  remember  some 
years  ago  to  have  seen  in  a  bookseller’s  shop  two  huge  folios, 
printed  in  double  columns,  being  a  commentary  on  the  Book 
of  Job :  surely  more  than  Job-like  patience  would  be  required 
for  their  perusal ;  what  should  be  claimed  for  its  production  ? 


284 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


Authorcraft  has  its  whims,  and  caprices  also :  Racine  was  ac¬ 
customed  to  walk  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  and  recite  his 
verses  aloud  with  such  violent  gesticulations,  that  people  sup¬ 
posed  him  crazy.  Morel,  another  Frenchman,  was  so  absorbed 
in  his  studies,  that  when  a  messenger  informed  him  of  the 
death  of  his  spouse,  he  calmly  replied,  “  I  am  very  sorry ;  she 
was  a  good  woman  ”  ! 

Sir  Isaac  Xewton,  on  one  occasion,  invited  a  friend  to  dine 
with  him ;  but  he  not  only  forgot  to  tell  his  cook  to  provide 
for  him :  he  sat  at  the  table  in  a  state  of  mental  abstraction, 
while  his  friend  was  satisfying  his  hunger,  and  exclaimed, 
“Well,  really,  if  it  were  not  for  the  proof  before  my  eyes,  I 
could  have  sworn  that  I  had  not  yet  dined  55 ! 

Lessing,  the  German  philosopher,  was  occasionally  so  absent- 
minded,  that  once  he  knocked  at  his  own  door,  when  the  ser¬ 
vant,  not  recognizing  her  master,  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  said,  “  The  Professor  is  not  at  home.”  “  Oh,  very  well,” 
replied  Lessing,  composedly  walking  away,  “  I  will  call  again.” 

Thackeray,  it  is  stated,  never  began  upon  less  than  a  quire 
of  letter  paper.  Half  of  this  he  would  cover  with  comic  draw¬ 
ings  ;  a  fourth  he  would  tear  up  into  minute  pieces ;  and  on 
two  or  three  slips  of  the  remainder  lie  would  do  his  work — 
walking  about  the  room  at  intervals,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  with  a  perturbed  and  woe-begone  expression  of 
countenance.  Bloomfield  wrote  his  “  F armer’s  Boy  ”  with  chalk, 
upon  the  top  of  a  pair  of  bellows — a  wind  instrument,  till  then, 
a  novelty  in  the  choir  of  the  Muses.  The  author,  it  is  thus 
evident,  is  both  more  at  ease  and  more  to  advantage  in  his 
study,  than  anywhere  else.  Clifford  worked  his  first  problem 
in  mathematics,  when  a  cobbler’s  apprentice,  upon  small  scraps 
of  leather,  which  he  beat  smooth  for  the  purpose  ;  while  Ritten- 
house,  the  astronomer,  first  calculated  eclipses  on  his  plough- 
handle. 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


285 


A  pan  of  water  and  two  thermometers  were  the  means  by 
which  Dr.  Black  discovered  latent  heat ;  and  a  prism,  a  lens, 
and  sheet  of  pasteboard  enabled  Newton  to  unfold  the  compo¬ 
sition  of  light  and  the  origin  of  color. 

An  eminent  foreign  savant  once  called  upon  Dr.  Wollaston 
and  requested  to  be  shown  over  his  laboratories,  in  which 
science  had  been  enriched  by  so  many  important  discoveries, 
when  the  Doctor  took  him  into  a  study,  and,  pointing  to  an  old 
tea-tray,  containing  a  few  watch-glasses,  test-papers,  a  small 
balance,  and  a  blow-pipe,  said,  “  There  is  all  the  laboratory  I 
have.” 

A  writer  in  the  Quarterly  Review  remarks,  that  “  it  was  in 
the  open  air  that  Wordsworth  found  the  materials  for  his 
poems,  and  it  was  in  the  open  air,  according  to  the  poet  him¬ 
self,  that  nine-tenths  of  them  were  shaped.  A  stranger  asked 
permission  of  the  servant,  at  Bydal,  to  see  the  study.  ‘  This,’ 
said  she,  as  she  showed  the  room,  4  is  my  master’s  library, 
where  he  keeps  his  books,  but  his  study  is  out  of  doors.’  The 
poor  neighbors,  on  catching  the  sound  of  his  humming,  in  the 
act  of  verse-making,  after  some  prolonged  absence  from  home, 
were  wont  to  exclaim,  ‘  There  he  is  ;  we  are  glad  to  hear  him 
booing  about  again.’  From  the  time  of  his  settlement  at  Gras¬ 
mere,  he  had  a  physical  infirmity,  which  prevented  his  compos¬ 
ing  pen  in  hand.  Before  he  had  been  five  minutes  at  his  desk, 
his  chest  became  oppressed,  and  a  perspiration  started  out  over 
his  whole  body  ;  to  which  was  added,  in  subsequent  years,  in¬ 
cessant  liability  to  inflammation  in  his  eyes.  Thus,  when  he 
had  inwardly  digested  as  many  lines  as  his  memory  could 
carry,  he  usually  had  recourse  to  some  of  the  inmates  of  his 
house,  to  commit  them  to  paper.” 

Ferguson  laid  himself  down  in  the  fields  at  night  in  a 
blanket,  and  made  a  map  of  the  heavenly  bodies  by  means  of 
a  thread  with  small  beads  on  it,  stretched  between  his  eye  and 


286 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


the  stars.  Franklin  first  robbed  the  thunder -cloud  of  its  lisrht- 
ning  by  means  of  a  kite  made  with  two  cross-sticks  and  a. silk 
handkerchief.  His  experiments  were  first  tried  in  the  tower 
of  the  old  church,  since  used  as  the  Hew  York  Post-office. 

Our  sympathies  become  the  more  deeply  enlisted  for  the  pen¬ 
alties  of  authorship,  when  we  remember  that  the  emanations 
of  mind  have  been  attended  with  severe  and  laborious  indus¬ 
try. 

So  scrupulously  fastidious  was  Pope  as  to  nicety  of  expres¬ 
sion,  that  it  is  known  he  seldom  committed  to  the  press  anything 
till  it  had  passed  under  repeated  revision  ;  and  his  publisher, 
Dodsley,  on  one  occasion  deemed  it  easier  to  reprint  the  whole 
of  his  corrected  proofs,  than  attempt  the  needed  emendations. 
Thomson,  Akenside,  G-ray,  and  Cowper  were  equally  devoted 
in  their  elaboration  of  a  line  ;  and  Goldsmith  gave  seven  long 
years  to  the  perfection  of  his  inimitable  production,  the  De¬ 
serted  Tillage:  producing,  on  the  average,  something  like  three 
or  four  lines  a  day,  which  he  thought  good  work.  Hume  and 
Pobertson  were  incessantly  laboring  over  their  language1 — the 
latter  used  to  write  his  sentences  on  small  slips  of  paper,  and 
after  rounding  and  polishing  them  to  his  satisfaction,  he  entered 
them  in  a  book. 

Burke  had  all  his  principal  works  printed  once  or  twice,  at  a 
private  press,  before  submitting  them  to  his  publisher.  John¬ 
son  and  Gibbon  were  exceptions  to  these,  it  is  true ;  they  wrote 
spontaneously,  and  their  first  draft  was  the  only  one  they  gave 
to  the  press:  and  yet  the  majesty  and  beauty  of  their  diction 
remain  unsurpassed  at  the  present  day.  The  French  writers 
Pousseau  and  St.  Pierre  carried  their  scrupulosity  to  an 
amusing  excess.  The  former  wrote  out  his  new  Heloise  on 
fine  gilt-edged  paper,  and  with  the  twofold  affection  of  a 
lover  and  a  parent,  rehearsed  his  effusions  to  the  ravishment  of 
his  own  delighted  ears,  before  sending  them  to  the  printer; 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


287 


and  the  latter  transcribed  bis  Paul  and  Virginia  no  less  than 
nine  times.  Burns  was  another  hard  worker  with  his  brain ; 
when  his  fickle  muse  jaded,  he  used  to  rock  himself  on  a  chair, 
and  gaze  upon  the  sky,  patiently  waiting  inspiration.  He  was 
fastidious  to  a  fault  in  the  perfecting  of  his  phrase  and  rhythm. 
The  same  delicate  sense  characterizes  Byron,  Scott,  Moore, 
Campbell,  and  Bulwer. 

Among  the  pains  and  penalties  of  authorship,  the  critical 
censorship  of  the  press  has  had  its  share. 

Severe  and  unmerited  criticism  has  been  but  too  frequently 
the  bane  of  literature,  although,  as  in  the  instance  of  Byron, 
it  ultimately  tended  to  elicit  the  development  of  talent,  which 
otherwise  might  never  have  been  brought  into  action.  Some 
writers  have  been  driven  mad,  and  others  have  actually  died  of 
criticism.  Voltaire  called  these  “  dreaded  ministers  of  literary 
justice”  la  canaille  de  la  litterature ,  but  he,  like  Pope,  suffered 
retribution  at  their  hands. 

An  amusing  anecdote  is  related  of  a  certain  French  writer, 
who,  failing  to  please  the  critics  of  his  day  by  his  avowed  pro¬ 
ductions,  afterwards  resorted  to  the  expedient  of  publishing 
three  volumes  of  poetry  and  essays,  as  the  works  of  a  journey¬ 
man  blacksmith.  The  trick  succeeded — all  France  was  in 
amazement ;  and  the  poems  of  this  child  of  nature — this  untu¬ 
tored  genius — this  inspired  son  of  V ulcan,  as  he  was  now  called, 
were  immediately  and  enthusiastically  praised,  even  by  the  very 
critics  who  before  repudiated  the  effusions  of  the  same  pen. 
Byron  was  condemned,  among  other  crimes,  for  not  having 
dated  his  first  poems  from  the  purlieus  of  Grub  Street ;  and 
Keats  was  barbarously  attacked  in  a  similar  manner  by  no  less 
a  critic  than  Gifford.  Moore  relates  that  such  was  the  effect 
of  the  savage  attack  upon  Byron,  that  a  friend  who  happened  to 
call  on  him  shortly  after  he  had  read  it,  inquired  whether  he 
had  received  a  challenge,  such  fierce  defiance  was  depicted  in 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


his  countenance.  The  result  was  that  fine  satire,  “  English  Bards 
and  Scotch  Reviewers.”  It  was  about  the  same  time  that  the 
opposite  critical  organ  commenced  a  critique  on  Wordsworth’s 
“ Excursion  ”  with  the  derisive  words — “  This  will  never  do  ; 
we  give  him  up  as  altogether  incurable  and  beyond  the  power 
of  criticism.”  The  sweet  sonneteer  of  Windermere  has  for¬ 
tunately  outlived  the  ignorant  intolerance  of  this  sapient  cen¬ 
sor.  Kirke  White  was  another  instance  of  literary  assassination. 
Southey  kindly  consoled  and  encouraged  him  to  persevere, 
but  wasting  disease  soon  hurried  the  young  poet  away,  and  it 
was  Southey’s  friendly  hand  that  first  gathered  his  scattered 
and  despised  works,  and  gave  them  to  the  world. 

It  would  be  no  uninteresting  literary  speculation,  remarks 
Mr.  D’Israeli,  to  describe  the  difficulties  which  some  of  our 
most  favorite  works  encountered  in  their  manuscript  state,  and 
even  after  they  had  passed  through  the  press.  Sterne,  when 
he  had  finished  his  first  and  second  volumes  of  “  Tristram 
Shandy,”  offered  them  to  a  bookseller  at  York  for  fifty  pounds, 
but  was  refused :  he  came  to  town  with  his  MSS.,  and  he  and 
JDodsley  the  publisher  entered  into  an  agreement,  of  which 
neither  repented . 

“  The  Rosciad,”  with  all  its  merit,  lay  for  a  considerable  time 
in  a  dormant  state,  till  Churchill  and  his  publisher  became  im¬ 
patient,  and  almost  hopeless  of  success.  “  Burn’s  Justice  ” 
was  disposed  of  by  its  author,  who  was  weary  of  soliciting 
booksellers  to  purchase  the  MS.,  for  a  trifle,  and  now  it  yields 
an  annual  income.  Collins  burnt  his  “odes”  before  the  door  of 
his  publisher. 

Some  laborious  writers  devote  their  lifetime  to  the  produc¬ 
tion  of  a  single  w'ork ;  as  in  the  instance  of  the  ill-fated  but 
erudite  Castell.  His  “  Lexicon  Heptaglotton  ”  presents  a  re¬ 
markable  example  of  great  generosity,  combined  with  the 
most  herculean  literary  industry.  lie  was  literally  a  martyr 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTIIORCRAFT.  289 

to  letters,  a  case  of  voluntary  immolation  of  himself  and  his 
fortune  to  his  darling  pursuits.  It  is  impossible  to  read  un¬ 
moved  his  pathetic  appeal  to  Charles  II.,  in  which  he  laments 
the-  seventeen  years  of  incredible  pains,  during  which  he 
thought  himself  idle  when  he  had  not  devoted  sixteen  or 
eighteen  hours  a  day  to  the  Lexicon ;  that  he  had  expended 
all  his  inheritance  (more  than  twelve  thousand  pounds)  ;  that 
it  had  broken  his  constitution,  and  left  him  blind,  as  well  as 
poor.  When  this  invaluable  Polyglott  was  published,  the 
copies  remained  unsold  on  his  hands ;  for  the  learned  Castell 
had  anticipated  the  curiosity  and  knowledge  of  the  public  by  a 
full  century.  He  had  so  completely  devoted  himself  to 
Oriental  studies,  that  they  had  a  very  remarkable  consequence ; 
for  he  had  totally  forgotten  his  own  language,  and  could 
scarcely  spell  a  single  word.  This  appears  in  some  of  his 
English  letters,  preserved  by  Mr.  Hichols  in  his  “Literary 
Anecdotes.” 

Prideanx,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Worcester,  was  in  early  life 
so  poor  as  to  be  obliged  to  walk  on  foot  to  the  university, 
where  he  at  first  obtained  a  menial  situation  in  the  kitchen  of 
Exeter  College,  which  college  he  did  not  leave  till  he  became 
one  of  its  fellows.  The  two  Milners,  who  wrote  the  well- 
known  history  of  the  Christian  Church,  were  originally 
weavers,  as  was  also  Dr.  White,  late  regius  professor  of  Arabic. 
The  celebrated  John  Hunter  received  scarcely  any  education 
until  he  had  attained  the  age  of  twenty,  and  then  was  appren¬ 
ticed  to  a  cabinet-maker :  yet  he  became  one  of  the  greatest 
anatomists  that  ever  lived. 

Numerous  as  have  been  the  institutions  designed  for  the 
relief  of  the  indigent  poor,  but  one  is  known  to  have  been 
erected  for  the  especial  benefit  of  the  hapless  author ;  and  this, 
established  by  Pope  Urban  VIII.,  bore  the  strangely  signifi¬ 
cant  name  of  the  “  Petreat  of  the  Incurables,”  as  if  implying 
19 


290 


INFELICITIES  OF  AUTHORCRAFT. 


that  its  devotees  were  deemed  irreclaimable  alike  from  tlie 
crime  of  poverty  and  authorship. 

Like  many  other  works  which  have  since  become  classics, 
Thomson’s  Seasons  long  in  vain  sought  a  publisher. 

“  Poetry  is,”  according  to  Coleridge,  “  its  own  exceeding  great 
reward,”  and  this  is,  sometimes,  about  all  that  falls  to  its  votaries. 
Intellectual  endowments  are  of  themselves  too  costly  and  rare 
to  be  vulgarized  by  sordid  gains.  Yet  who  does  not  compas¬ 
sionate  the  privations  and  poverty  of  the  mighty  minds,  whose 
genius  has  enriched  the  realm  of  thought  with  the  bright  crea¬ 
tions  of  fancy,  or  whose  patient  and  laborious  studies  have  re¬ 
vealed  to  us  the  great  mysteries  of  science  ; — a  wealth  so  vast, 
that  no  pecuniary  returns  on  our  part  could  adequately  com¬ 
pensate. 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


“  Fair  tresses  man's  imperial  race  ensnare, 

And  beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair  !  ” 

Pope. 


“Woman  was  made  ‘  exceedingly  fair/  a  creature  not  only 
fitted  for  all  the  deference  and  homage  our  minds  could  be¬ 
stow,  but  obviously  intended  for  the  most  elegant  wardrobes 
and  brilliants  trousseaus  our  purses  could  .furnish.  But,  how¬ 
ever  we  may  fall  short  of  our  duty  to  the  sex  in  this  latter  re¬ 
spect,  let  no  woman,  therefore,  suppose  that  any  man  can  be 
really  indifferent  to  her  appearance.  Of  course,  the  immedi¬ 
ate  effect  of  a  well-chosen  feminine  toilet  operates  differently 


292  the  toilette  and  its  devotees. 

in  different  minds.  In  some  it  causes  a  sense  of  actual  pleas¬ 
ure  ;  in  others  a  consciousness  of  passive  enjoyment.  In  some 
it  is  intensely  felt  while  present ;  in  others  only  missed  when 
gone.  Hone  can  deny  its  power  over  them,  more  or  less  ;  or, 
for  their  own  sakes,  had  better  not  be  believed,  if  they  do.”  * 

The  intimate  relations  between  woman’s  beauty  and  her 
mirror  render  it  impossible  for  the  fair  possessor  to  be  uncon¬ 
scious  of  her  endowment ;  and  consequently  it  would  be  always 
at  a  premium. 

“  Smilingly  fronting  the  mirror  she  stands, 

Her  white  fingers  loosening  the  prisoned  brown  bands 
To  wander  at  will — and  they  kiss  as  they  go, 

Her  brow,  and  her  cheek,  and  her  shoulders  of  snow, 

Her  violet  eyes,  with  their  soft,  changing  light, 

G-rowing  darker  when  sad,  and  when  merry  more  bright, 

Look  in  at  the  image,  till  the  lips  of  the  twain 
Smile  at  seeing  how  each  gives  the  smile  back  again.” 

The  looking-glass,  although  it  is  personal  in  its  reflections , 
yet  they  are  given  silently,  so  that  however  much  we  may  feel 
our  pride  mortified  occasionally  by  its  revelations,  we  never 
fail  to  cherish  a  friendly  feeling  for  so  faithful  a  monitor. 
Kinder,  also,  is  the  looking-glass  than  the  wine-glass  ;  for,  not¬ 
withstanding  the  tendency  of  the  former  to  self-flattery,  when 
it  reveals  our  defects,  it  does  so  confidentially ;  whereas  the 
wine-glass  makes  us  betray  our  own  frailties  alike  to  friends 
and  foes. 

It  has  been  observed  that  God  intended  all  women  to  be 
beautiful,  as  much  as  he  did  the  morning-glories  and  the  roses. 
Beauty  is 

“  Like  the  sweet  South, 

That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 

Stealing,  and  giving  odor.” 


*  Quarterly  Hev. 


THE  TOILETTE  AXD  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


293 


Ideal  beauty*,  as  well  as  beautiful  objects  of  art  and  nature, 
affect  us  with  a  sort  of  sweet  contagion.  In  the  contempla¬ 
tion  of  a  line  picture,  we  drink  in  the  spirit  of  beauty  through 
the  eye :  and  this  is  probably  the*  reason  why  lovely  women 
are  occasionally  addicted  to  sestlietics — the  study  of  their 
charms  in  the  mirror. 

Milton  supposes  Eve  was  fascinated  with  her  own  charms  as 
mirrored  in  the  waters  of  Paradise,  and  her  daughters  have 
faithfully  followed  her  example,  for  they  are  seldom  disinclined 
to  contemplate  ideal  beauty  in  their  own  symmetrical  forms 

and  features.  If  the  “  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man,”  why 

■ 

may  not  woman  be  allowed  a  like  privilege,  for  thereby  a 
blemish  may  be  removed  and  many  a  charm  heightened. 

The  love  of  ornament  creeps  slowly,  but  surely,  into  woman’s 
heart  ;  the  girl  who  twines  the  lily  in  her  tresses,  and  looks  at 
herself  in  the  clear  stream,  will  soon  wish  that  the  lily  was 
fadeless,  and  the  stream  a  mirror.  . 

Southey,  in  his  Omniana ,  relates  the  following  :  “  When 
I  was  last  in  Lisbon,  a  nun  made  her  escape  from  the  nunnery. 
The  first  thing  for  which  she  inquired  when  she  reached  the 
house  in  which  she  was  to  be  secreted  was  a  looking-glass.  She 
had  entered  the  convent  when  only  five  years  old,  and  from 
that  time  had  never  seen  her  own  face.”  There  was  some  ex¬ 
cuse  for  her  wishing  to  peruse  her  own  features. 

A  mirror  has  been  thus  variously  described,  as  the  only 
truth-teller  in  general  favor — a  journal  in  which  Time  records 
his  progress — a  smooth  acquaintance,  but  no  flatterer.  We  may 
add,  that  it  is  the  only  tolerated  medium  of  reflection  upon 
woman’s  beauty,  and  the  last  discarded ;  Queen  Elizabeth,  we 
learn,  did  not  desert  her  looking-glass  while  there  was  any  ves¬ 
tige  left  in  the  way  of  beauty  with  which  to  regale  herself.* 

*  THien  Queen  Elizabeth  was  far  advanced  in  life,  she  ordered  all  pictures 
of  herself  painted  by  artists  who  had  not  flattered  her  faded  features,  to  be 


294 


THE  TOILETTE  AXD  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


Socrates  called  beauty  a  sliort-lived  tyranny  ;  Plato,  a  privi¬ 
lege  of  nature ;  Theophrastus,  a  silent  cheat ;  Theocritus,  a 
delightful  prejudice  ;  and  Aristotle  affirmed,  that  it  was  better 
than  all  the  letters  of  recommendation  in  the  world. 

Fontenelle  thus  daintily  compliments  the  sex,  when  he  com¬ 
pares  women  and  clocks — the  latter  serve  to  point  out  the 
hours,  the  former  to  make  us  forget  them. 

There  is  a  magic  power  in  beauty  that  all  confess — a  strange 
witchery  that  fascinates  and  enchants  us,  with  a  potency  as 
irresistible  as  that  of  the  magnet.  It  is  to  the  moral  world 
what  gravitation  is  to  the  physical. 

Dean  Swift  proposed  to  tax  female  beauty,  and  to  leave 
every  lady  to  rate  her  own  charms.  He  said  the  tax  would  be 
cheerfully  paid,  and  prove  very  productive. 

Beauty  is  inflexible  :  it  appears  to  us  a  dream,  when  we 
contemplate  the  works  of  the  great  artists ;  it  is  a  hovering, 
floating,  and  glittering  shadow,  whose  outline  eludes  the  grasp 
of  definition.  Mendelssohn,  the  philosopher,  grandfather  of 
the  composer,  tried  to  catch  Beauty,  as  a  butterfly,  and  pin  it 
down  for  inspection ;  but  both  defy  pursuit. 

Lord  Bacon  justly  remarked,  that  the  best  part  of  beauty  is 
that  which  a  picture  cannot  express.  Yes,  beauty  is  indescri¬ 
bable  and  inexplicable;  all  we  know  is,  that  it  fascinates,  daz¬ 
zles,  and  bewilders  us  with  its  mystic  power.  Yo  wonder  the 
poets  define  woman  as  something  midway  between  a  flower 
and  an  angel. 

Women  are  the  poetry  of  the  world,  in  the  same  sense  as 


collected  and  burned  :  and  in  1593  issued  a  proclamation  forbidding  all  persons 
save  “  special  cunning  painters  ”  to  draw  her  likeness.  She  quarrelled  at  last 
with  her  looking-glass  as  well  as  with  her  painters.  During  the  last  years  of  her 
life,  the  maids  of  honor  removed  mirrors  as  they  would  have  removed  poison 
from  the  apartments  of  royal  pride.  It  is  said  that  at  the  time  of  her  death 
her  wardrobe  contained  more  than  two  thousand  dresses. 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


295 


the  stars  are  the  poetry  of  heaven.  Clear,  light-giving,  harmo¬ 
nious,  they  are  the  terrestrial  planets  that  rule  the  destinies  of 
mankind. 

Leigh  Hunt  seems  to  have  caught  a  vision  of  beanty,  where 
he  sings : 


‘ {  I  saw  her,  upon  nearer  view, 

*  A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  too. 

Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 

And  steps  of  virgin  liberty  ; 

A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet. 

A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
'For  human  nature’s  daily  food, 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles.” 

“  Beauty,-^the  eye’s  idol,”  does  not  consist  merely  in  a  fair 
face,  a  sparkling  eye,  or  a  symmetrical  form,  so  much  as  in 
that  nameless  charm, — “  that  elevation  of  soul,  that  heart- 
warm,  sunny  smile,  playing  about  the  mouth,  that  sweetly- 
subdued  voice,  and  that  love-liglit  of  the  eye — all  which 
make  up  womanly  worth  and  excellence.” 

Beauty  of  countenance,  which,  being  the  light  of  the  soul 
shining  through  the  face,  is  independent  of  features  or  com¬ 
plexion,  is  the  most  attractive,  as  well  as  the  most  enduring 
charm. 

In  truth,  it  is  difficult  to  form  any  fixed  standard  of  beauty. 
Qualities  of  personal  attraction,  the  most  opposite  imaginable, 
are  each  looked  upon  as  beautiful  in  different  countries,  or  by 
different  people  in  the  same  country.  That  which  is  deformity 
at  Paris  may  be  beauty  at  Pekin  ? 

- u  Beauty,  thou  wild,  fantastic  ape — - 

Who  dost  in  every  country  change  thy  shape ; 

Here  black,  there  brown,  here  tawny,  and  there  white  !  ” 


296 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


The  frantic  lover  sees  “  Helen’s  beauty  in  an  Egyptian 
brow.”  The  black  teeth,  the  painted  eyelids,  the  plucked  eye¬ 
brows  of  the  Chinese  fair,  have  admirers ;  and  should  their 
feet  be  large  enough  to  walk  upon,  their  owners  are  regarded 
as  monsters  of  ugliness. 

With  the  modern  Greeks,  and  other  nations  on  the  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean,  corpulency  is  the  perfection  of  form  in  a 
woman ;  and  those  very  attributes  which  disgust  the  western 
European  form  the  attractions  of  an  Oriental  fair.  It  was 
from  the  common  and  admired  shape  of  his  countrywomen 
that  Rubens  in  his  pictures  delights  so  much  in  a  vulgar  and 
odious  plumpness  : — when  this  master  was  desirous  to  repre¬ 
sent  the  “  beautiful,”  he  had  no  idea  of  beauty  under  two  hun¬ 
dredweight. 

The  hair  is  a  beautiful  ornament  of  woman,  but  it  has 
always  been  a  disputed  point  which  color  most  becomes  it. 
We  account  red  hair  an  abomination  ;  but  in  the  time  of  Eliza¬ 
beth  it  found  admirers,  and  was  in  fashion.  Mary  of  Scotland, 
though  she  had  exquisite  hair  of  her  own,  wore  wdiat  is  called 
red  fronts.  Cleopatra  was  red-haired ;  and  the  Venetian 

ladies  to  this  day  counterfeit  yellow  hair. 

* 

Lord  Shaftesbury  asserts  that  all  beauty  is  truth.  True 
features  make  the  beauty  of  a  face  ;  and  true  proportions  the 
beauty  of  architecture  ;  as  true  measures  that  of  harmony  and 
music.  In  poetry,  which  is  all  fable,  truth  still  is  the  perfec¬ 
tion. 

It  has  been  well  observed,  that  homely  women  are  often 
altogether  the  best  at  heart,  head,  and  soul.  A  pretty  face 
frequently  presides  over  a  false  heart  and  a  weak  head,  with  the 
smallest  shadow  of  a  soul. 

“  The  bombastic  misrepresentations  of  the  encomiasts  of  Beau¬ 
ty,”  observed  Ayton,  “have  exposed  her  just  claims  to  much 
odium  and  ill-will.  If  a  perfect  face  is  the  only  bait  that  can 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


297 


tempt  an  angel  from  the  skies,  what  is  to  be  the  recompense 
of  the  unfortunate  with  a  wide  month  and  a  turn-up  nose  ? 
The  conduct  of  men,  since  the  Deluge,  has  proved,  however, 
that  love  (the  true  thing)  is  not  mere  fealty  to  a  face.  If  an 
ugly  woman  of  wit  and  worth  cannot  be  loved  till  she  is  known 
— a  beautiful  fool  will  cease  to  please  wdien  she  is  found  out.” 

“  After  all,  is  the  world  so  very  absurd  in  its  love  of  pretty 
women  \  Is  woman  so  very  ridiculous  in  her  chase  after 
beauty?  A  pretty  woman  is  doing  woman’s  work  in  the  world 
— making  life  sunnier  and  more  beautiful.  Man  has  forsworn 
beauty  altogether.  The  world  of  action  is  a  world  of  ugliness. 
But  woman  does  for  mankind  what  man  has  ceased  to  do. 

Her  aim  from  very  childhood  is  to  be  beautiful . 

There  is  a  charm,  however,  of  life’s  after-glow  over  the  gray, 
quiet  head,  the  pale,  tender  face,  lit  up  with  a  sweetness — a 
pitifulness  that  only  experience  and  sorrow  can  give.  It  is 
there,  at  any  rate,  that  we  read  a  subtler  and  diviner  beauty 
than  in  the  rosy  cheek  of  girlhood — a  beauty  spiritualized, 
mobile  with  every  thought  and  emotion,  yet  restful  with  the 
rest  of  ye  irs.  An  infinite  tenderness  and  largeness  of  heart, 
a  touch  that  has  in  it  all  the  gentleness  of  earth,  a  smile  that 
has  in  it  something  of  the  compassionateness  of  heaven — this 
is  the  apotheosis  of  pretty  women.” 

“  The  divine  right  of  Beauty,”  said  Junius,  “  is  the  only 
divine  right  a  man  can  acknowledge,  and  a  pretty  woman  the 
only  tyrant  he  is  not  authorized  to  resist.” 

“  Woman  has  never  failed,  since  the  world  began,  to  illus¬ 
trate,  in  instances,  the  glory  of  her  nature — never  ceased  to 
manifest  the  divine  in  the  human.  With  the  regal  Esther, 
vearnin^  to  bless  her  enslaved  kindred,  and  the  filial -love- 
inspired  daughter,  who  sustained  the  life  of  her  gray-haired 
father  through  prison  bars,  there  have  not  been  parallels  want¬ 
ing  in  all  ages  to  prove  that  the  angels  of  God  still  wander  qn 


298 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


earth,  to  remind  man  of  Eden,  and  give  him  a  foretaste  of 
heaven. 

Of  such  type  of  virtue  were  Penelope,  weaving  amid  her 
maidens  through  weary  years  the  web  that  shielded  her  virtue, 
until  her  royal  husband  returned  from  his  wanderings,  and  was 
to  gladden  her  heart ;  or  courteous  Pebecca  at  the  well ;  or 
timid  Puth,  gleaning  in  the  held ;  or  the  Poman  Cornelia, 
who,  taunted  in  Pome’s  decaying  age,  by  rivals,  with  her 
poverty,  held  up  her  virtuous  children,  exclaiming,  “  These 
are  my  jewels !  ”  Fit  woman  to  have  been  the  mother  of  the 
Gracchi. 

Pichter  observes,  66  A  woman’s  soul  is  by  nature  a  beautiful 
fresco-painting,  painted  on  rooms,  clothes,  silver  waiters,  and 
upon  the  whole  domestic  establishment.” 

Beautiful  women  may  be  admired,  but  who  can  refrain  from 
loving  the  impersonation  of  grace  and  virtue  we  every  day 
encounter  in  the  charmed  circles  of  domestic  life.  Love  is  a 
hallowed  passion  ;  it  is  angel-like — a  gleam  of  the  celestial  to 
gladden  the  dark  places  of  our  earthly  pilgrimage.  The  true 
woman  has  been  beautifully  described  as — 

— “  a  queen  of  noble  Nature’s  crowning, 

A  smile  of  hers  was  like  an  act  of  grace  ; 

She  had  no  winsome  looks,  no  pretty  frowning, 

Like  daily  beauties  of  the  vulgar  race  ; 

But  if  she  smiled,  a  light  was  on  her  face  ; 

A  clear,  cool  kindliness,  a  lunar  beam 
Of  peaceful  radiance,  silvering  in  the  stream 
Of  human  thought,  of  unabiding  glory 
Not  quite  awaking  truth,  not  quite  a  dream, 

A  visitation  bright  and  transitory.”  * 

D’Israeli  observes,  “  It  is  at  the  foot  of  woman  we  lay  the 
laurels  that,  without  her  smile,  would  never  have  been  gained ; 


*  H.  Coleridge. 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


299 


it  is  lier  image  that  strings  the  lyre  of  the  poet,  that  animates 
the  voice  in  the  blaze  of  eloquent  faction,  and  guides  the  brain 
in  the  august  toils  of  stately  councils.  Whatever  may  be  the 
lot  of  man — however  unfortunate,  however  oppressed — if  he 
only  love  and  be  loved,  he  must  strike  a  balance  in  favor  of 
existence ;  for  love  can  illumine  the  dark  roof  of  poverty,  and 
can  lighten  the  fetters  of  the  slave.” 

“  Honored  be  woman,  she  beams  on  the  sight 
Graceful  and  fair  like  a  being  of  light, 

Scatters  around  her  wherever  she  strays 
Roses  of  bliss  on  our  thorn- covered  ways, 

Roses  of  Paradise  fresh  from  above, 

To  be  gathered  and  twined  in  a  garland  of  love.”  * 

“  Comets,  doubtless,  answer  some  wise  and  good  purpose  in 
the  creation  ;  so  do  women.  Comets  are  incomprehensible, 
beautiful,  and  eccentric ;  so  are  women.  Comets  shine  with 
peculiar  splendor,  but  at  night  appear  most  brilliant ;  so  do 
women.  Comets  confound  the  most  learned,  when  they  at¬ 
tempt  to  ascertain  their  nature ;  so  do  women.  Comets 
equally  excite  the  admiration  of  the  philosopher  and  of  the 
clod  of  the  valley  ;  so  do  women.  Comets  and  women,  there¬ 
fore,  are  closely  analogous ;  but  the  nature  of  both  being 
alike  inscrutable,  all  that  remains  for  us  is,  to  view  with  admi¬ 
ration  the  one,  and  devotedly  love  the  other.”  f 

It  was  probably  under  such  hallucination  that  the  following 
confession  of  returning  consciousness  was  perpetrated : 

“When  Eve  brought  icoe  to  all  mankind, 

Old  Adam  called  her  wo-va&n  ; 

And  when  he  found  she  wooed  so  kind, 

He  then  pronounced  her  woo-man. 

But  now  with  smiles  and  artful  wiles, 

Their  husbands’  pockets  trimmin’, 

The  women  are  so  full  of  whims , 

That  people  call  them  whim- men.”  % 


*  Schiller. 


f  Hood. 


300 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


Coleridge  used  to  say  “  tliat  the  most  happy  marriage  he 
could  imagine  would  be  the  union  of  a  deaf  man  with  a  blind 
woman.55  Years  before  he  was  not  so  much  of  a  cynic,  when 
he  wrote  those  tender  lines  about  the  wooing  of  the  love-sick 

Genevieve. 

After  all  that  may  be  said  or  sung  about  it,  beauty  is  an  un¬ 
deniable  fact,  and  its  endowment  not  to  be  disparaged.  Sid¬ 
ney  Smith  gives  some  good  advice  on  the  subject : 

“  Never  teach  false  morality.  IIow  exquisitely  absurd  to 
teach  a  girl  that  beauty  is  of  no  value,  dress  of  no  use ! 
Beauty  is  of  value — her  whole  prospects  and  happiness  in  life 
may  often  depend  upon  a  new  gown  or  a  becoming  bonnet ;  if 
she  has  five  grains  of  common  sense,  she  will  find  this  out. 
The  great  thing  is  to  teach  her  their  just  value,  and  that  there 
must  be  something  better  under  the  bonnet  than  a  pretty  face, 
for  real  happiness.  But  never  sacrifice  truth.55  Instantane¬ 
ous  and  universal  admiration — the  eye-worsliip  of  the  world  is 
unquestionably  the  reward  of  the  best  faces  ;  and  the  malcon¬ 
tents  had  much  better  come  into  the  general  opinion  with  a 
good  grace,  than  be  making  themselves  at  once  unhappy  and 
ridiculous,  by  their  hollow  and  self-betraying  recusancy.*  Now 
an  ill-conditioned  countenance,  accompanied,  as  it  always  is, 
of  course,  with  shining  abilities  and  all  the  arts  of  pleasing, 
has  this  signal  compensation — that  it  improves  under  observa¬ 
tion,  grows  less  and  less  objectionable  the  more  you  look  into 
it,  and  the  better  you  know  it,  till  it  becomes  almost  agreeable 
on  its  own  account — nay,  really  so — actually  pretty  ;  whereas 
beauty,  we  have  seen,  witless  beauty,  cannot  resist  the  test  of 
long  acquaintance,  but  declines,  as  you  gaze,  while  in  the  full 
pride  of  its  perfection ;  “  fades  on  the  eye  and  palls  upon  the 
sense,55  with  all  its  bloom  about  it. 


*  Ayton’s  Essays. 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


301 


u  He  that  loves  a  rosy  cheek,  or  a  coral  lip  admires, 

Or  from  star-like  eyes  doth  seek  fuel  to  maintain  his  fires, 

As  old  Time  makes  these  decay 
So  his  flames  must  waste  away ; 

But  a  smooth  and  steadfast  mind,  gentle  thoughts  and  calm  desires, 
Hearts  with  equal  love  combined  kindle  never-dying  fires. 

Where  these  are  not,  I  despise 
Lovely  cheeks  or  lips  or  eyes.”  * 

Byron  also  condenses  the  same  sentiment  in  a  single  line — 

“  Heart  on  her  lips,  and  soul  within  her  eyes.” 

The  last  word — eyes,  and  the  eloquent  language  they  ex¬ 
press — has  been  a  prolific  theme  with  the  poets.  Some  have 
dilated  on  their  brilliancy  till  they  have  been  bewildered  and 
blinded  to  all  things  else  around  them,  and  some  are  fastidious 
as  to  their  color,  size,  and  expression.  One  thus  describes  the 
respective  claims  of  black  and  blue : 

“  Black  eyes  most  dazzle  at  a  ball ; 

Blue  eyes  most  please  at  evening  fall. 

Black  a  conquest  soonest  gain ; 

The  blue  a  conquest  most  retain ; 

The  black  bespeak  a  lively  heart ; 

Whose  soft  emotions  soon  depart ; 

The  blue  a  steadier  flame  betray, 

That  bums  and  lives  beyond  a  day ; 

The  black  may  features  best  disclose ; 

In  blue  may  feelings  all  repose. 

Then  let  each  reign  without  control, 

The  black  all  mind — the  blue  all  soul.” 

Leigh  Hunt  says  of  those  who  have  thin  lips,  and  are  not 
shrews  or  niggards — “  I  must  give  here  as  my  firm  opinion, 
founded  on  what  I  have  observed,  that  lips  become  more  or 
less  contracted  in  the  course  of  years,  in  proportion  as  they  are 


*  Carew. 


302 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


accustomed  to  express  good  humor  and  generosity,  or  peevish¬ 
ness  and  a  contracted  mind.  Remark  the  effect  which  a  mo¬ 
ment  of  ill-humor  and  grudgingness  has  upon  the  lips,  and 
judge  what  may  be  expected  from  an  habitual  series  of  such 
moments.  Remark  the  reverse,  and  make  a  similar  judgment. 
The  mouth  is  the  frankest  part  of  the  face ;  it  can  the  least 
conceal  its  sensations.  We  can  hide  neither  ill-temper  with  it 
nor  good  ;  we  may  affect  what  we  please,  but  affectation  will 
not  help  us.  In  a  wrong  cause  it  will  only  make  our  observers 
resent  the  endeavor  to  impose  upon  them.  The  mouth  is  the 
seat  of  one  class  of  emotions,  as  the  eyes  are  of  another ;  or 
rather,  it  expresses  the  same  emotions  but  in  greater  detail,  and 
with  a  more  irrepressible  tendency  to  be  in  motion.  It  is  the 
region  of  smiles  and  dimples,  and  of  trembling  tenderness ; 
of  a  sharp  sorrow,  of  a  full  breathing  joy,  of  candor,  of  reserve, 
of  a  carking  care,  of  a  liberal  sympathy.” 

“  There  is  a  charm  that  brighter  grows  mid  beauty’s  swift  decay, 

And  o’er  the  heart  a  glory  throws  that  will  not  fade  away. 

When  beauty’s  voice  and  beauty’s  glance  the  heart  no  longer  move, 
This  holy  charm  will  still  entrance,  and  wake  the  spirit’s  love.” 

Long  hair  in  woman  is  an  essential  element  of  beauty.  The 
Roman  ladies  generally  wore  it  long,  and  dressed  it  in  a  variety 
of  ways,  bedecking  it  with  gold,  silver,  pearls,  and  other  orna¬ 
ments. 

The  custom  of  decking  the  hair  with  pearls  and  gems,  al¬ 
though  not  a  modern  invention,  is  still  in  vogue  with  royalty 
and  courtly  circles ;  yet  the  author  of  The  Honeymoon  thus 
repudiates  the  fashion : 

— “  Thus  modestly  attired, 

A  half -blown  rose  stuck  in  thy  braided  hair, 

With  no  more  diamonds  than  those  eyes  are  made  of, 

No  deeper  rubies  than  compose  thy  lips, 

Nor  pearls  more  precious  than  inhabit  them  ; 


THE  TOILETTE  AXE)  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


303 


With  the  pure  red  and  white,  which  that  same  hand 
Which  blends  the  rainbow  mingles  in  thy  cheeks  ; 

This  well-proportioned  form  (think  not  I  flatter) 

In  graceful  motion  to  harmonious  sounds, 

And  thy  free  tresses  dancing  in  the  wind, 

Thou’lt  fix  as  much  observance  as  chaste  dames 
Can  meet  without  a  blush.” 

The  Homan  patrician  ladies  liad  numerous  slaves  chiefly  ap¬ 
pointed  to  attend  their  toilette.  Their  hair  used  to  be  per¬ 
fumed  and  powdered  with  gold  dust. 

Of  all  the  articles  of  luxury  and  ostentation  known  to  the 
Homans,  pearls  seem  to  have  been  the  most  esteemed.  They 
were  worn  on  all  parts  of  the  dress,  and  such  was  the  diversity 
of  their  size,  purity,  and  value,  that  they  were  found  to  suit  all 
classes  from  those  of  moderate  to  those  of  the  most  colossal 
fortune.  The  pearl  earrings  of  Cleopatra  are  said  to  have  been 
of  fabulous  value.  After  pearls  and  diamonds,  the  emerald 
held  the  highest  place  in  the  estimation  of  the  Homans. 

In  France,  during  the  reign  of  Louis  XI Y.  the  use  of  dia¬ 
monds  revived.  Hobes  were  embroidered  with  them,  besides 
forming  necklaces,  aigrettes,  bracelets,  etc.  This  costly  fash¬ 
ion  subsided  about  the  end  of  the  French  Hevolution. 

The  favorites  of  fortune  are  too  frequently  the  servile  vota¬ 
ries  of  fashion,  and  this  passion  for  dress  entails  many  social 
evils.  While  it  fosters  imperious  pride  in  its  votaries,  it  de¬ 
stroys  all  the  finer  sensibilities  of  our  nature.  The  gentle  hand 
of  charity,  that  ministers  to  the  children  of  want,  belongs  not 
to  the  flaunting  lady  of  fashion ;  her  ambition  is  rather  to  daz¬ 
zle  and  bewilder  the  gazing,  thoughtless  multitude — to  become 
the  “  cynosure  of  all  eyes.”  To  such  the  luxury  of  doing  good 
is  unknown  ;  self  is  the  idol  they  adore  and  worship,  and  it  is 
idolatry  of  the  worst  type. 

“  There  are  certain  moralists  in  the  world,  who  labor  under 


304 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


the  impression  that  it  is  no  matter  what  people  wear,  or  how 
they  put  on  their  apparel.  Such  people  cover  themselves  up 
— they  do  not  dress.  No  one  doubts  that  the  mind  is  more  im¬ 
portant  than  the  body,  the  jewel  than  the  setting ;  and  yet  the 
virtue  of  the  one  and  the  brilliancy  of  the  other  are  enhanced 
by  the  mode  in  which  they  are  presented  to  the  senses.  Let  a 
woman  have  every  virtue  under  the  sun,  if  she  is  slatternly,  or 
even  inappropriate  in  her  dress,  her  merits  will  be  more  than 
half  obscured.  If,  being  young,  she  is  untidy,  or,  being  old, 
fantastic,  or  slovenly,  her  mental  qualifications  stand  a  chance 
of  being  passed  over  with  indifference.”  * 

A  right  loyal  scribe  thus  enacts  the  champion  for  beauty ; 
£  Plain  women  were  formerly  so  common  that  they  were  termed 
ordinary ,  to  signify  the  frequency  of  their  occurrence;  in 
these  happier  days  the  phrase  &z#mordinary  would  be  more  ap¬ 
plicable.  However  parsimonious,  or  even  cruel,  Nature  may 
have  been  in  other  respects,  they  all  cling  to  admiration  by 
some  solitary  tenure  that  redeems  them  from  the  unqualified 
imputation  of  unattractiveness.  One  has  an  eye  that,  like, 
charity,  covers  a  multitude  of  sins ;  another,  like  Samson,  boasts 
her  strength  in  her  hair  ;  a  third  holds  you  spell-bound  by  her 
teeth  ;  a  fourth  is  a  Cinderella,  who  wins  hearts  by  her  pretty 
little  foot;  a  fifth  makes  an  irresistible  appeal  from  her  face  to 
her  figure.”  But — - 

“  A  woman,  with  a  beaming  face,  but  with  a  heart  untrue, 

Though  beautiful,  is  valueless  as  diamonds  formed  of  dew.” 

The  true  art  of  assisting  beauty  consists  in  embellishing  the 
whole  person  by  the  proper  ornaments  of  virtuous  and  com¬ 
mendable  qualities.  By  this  help  alone  it  is  that  those  who 
are  the  favorites  of  Nature  become  animated,  and  are  in  a  cap¬ 
acity  for  exerting  a  controlling  influence  ;  and  those  who  seem 


*  Chambers. 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


305 


to  have  been  neglected  by  her,  like  models  wrought  in  haste, 
are  capable,  in  a  great  measure,  of  finishing  what  she  has  left 
imperfect. 

Chevreul  remarks :  “  Drapery  of  a  lustreless  white ,  such  as 
cambric  muslin,  assorts  well  with  a  fresh  complexion,  of  which 
it  relieves  the  rose  color ;  but  it  is  unsuitable  to  complexions 
which  have  a  disagreeable  tint,  because  white  always  exalts  all 
colors  by  raising  their  tone ;  consequently,  it  is  unsuitable  to 
those  skins  which,  without  having  this  disagreeable  tint,  very 
nearly  approach  it.  Yery  light  white  draperies,  such  as  point 
lace,  have  an  entirely  different  aspect.  Black  draperies,  low¬ 
ering  the  tone  of  the  colors  with  which  they  are  in  juxtaposi¬ 
tion,  whiten  the  skin  ;  but  if  the  vermilion  or  rosy  parts  are  to 
a  certain  point  distant  from  the  drapery,  it  will  follow  that,  al¬ 
though  lowered  in  tone,  they  appear  relatively  to  the  white 
parts  of  the  skin  contiguous  to  this  same  drapery,  redder  than 
if  the  contiguity  to  the  black  did  not  exist.” 

u  If  Nature  has  given  man  a  strong  instinct  to  dress,  says  a 
writer  in  the  Quarterly  Review ,  “  it  is  because  she  has  given 
him  woman  as  an  object  for  it;  whatever,  therefore,  maybe 
the  outward  practice  of  the  present  day,  the  moral  foundation 
is  right.  She  dresses  herself  to  please  him^and  he  dresses  her  to 
please  himself;  and  this  is  a  distinction  between  the  two  which 
may  apply  to  more  subjects  than  that  of  dress” 

Yet  by  nothing,  perhaps,  save  his  boasted  reason,  is  man 
more  signally  distinguished  from  the  lower  orders  of  creation, 
than  by  the  decorations  of  the  toilet — the  drapery  and  various 
appendages  with  which  he  invests  his  person.  So  universal  is 
the  custom  among  all  civilized  communities,  that  an  individual 
would  as  soon  think  of  intermitting  his  necessary  food  as  to  at¬ 
tempt  to  infringe  upon  the  claims  of  so  irreversible  a  decree. 
Some  there  are,  it  is  true,  of  more  pristine  habits,  whose  un¬ 
sophisticated  tastes  induce  a  preference  for  the  purely  natural 
20 


306 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


over  tlie  artificial  in  this  respect, — a  state  of  nature,  to  that  of 
art :  bat  these  belong  to  the  untutored  and  the  rude  of  savage 
life,  and  therefore  the  less  said  about  them  the  better.  There 
is,  moreover,  less  of  the  feeling  of  compulsion  in  complying 
with  the  requisition,  from  the  prevalent  passion  for  adornment 
and  decoration,  to  which  all  are,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
inclined.  It  seems  somewhat  strange  that  Nature,  in  her 
lavish  distribution  of  fleece,  and  fur,  and  gaudy  plumage,  should 
have  left  the  monarch  of  all  mundane  creatures  in  a  state  of 
destitution,  which  it  so  sorely  taxes  his  purse  to  supply ;  but 
such  is  the  fact,  and  against  it  there  is  no  appeal.  The  world 
has  been  long  accustomed  to  do  homage  to  elegance  and  refine¬ 
ment  in  costume  ;  it  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  it  should 
have  become  a  matter  of  such  universal  regard. 

Pride  of  personal  appearance  is  naturally  one  result  of  a 
passion  for  dress,  which  is  alike  evinced  by  the  rude  trappings 
of  the  savage  and  the  gorgeous  appendages  of  refinement  and 
luxury : 

“  Because  you  flourish  in  worldly  affairs, 

Don’t  be  haughty  and  put  on  airs, 

With  insolent- pride  of  station  ; 

Don’t  be  proud  and  turn  up  your  nose, 

At  poorer1  people,  in  plainer  clothes, 

But  leam,  for  the  sake  of  your  mind’s  repose, 

That  Wealth’s  a  bubble  that  comes  and  goes  ! 

And  that  all  Proud  Flesh,  wherever  it  grows, 

Is  subject  to  irritation.”  * 

It  is  in  fact  difficult  to  determine  whether  the  same  may  not 
be  affirmed  of  those  who  affect  the  greatest  simplicity  in  their 
habiliments — for  it  is  not  certain  that  the  Quaker,  even,  is 
wholly  divested  of  vanity,  although  he  may  be  of  the  finery 
he  repudiates. 


*  Saxe. 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


307 


If  any  fair  nympli  is  in  quest  of  further  details  as  to  the  ac¬ 
cessories  of  the  toilette,  here  is  ready  prepared  a  catalogue  of 
moral  cosmetics : 


An  enchanted  mirror 

Lip-salve . 

Eye-water . 

For  the  voice . 

For  wrinkles . 

An  elastic  girdle . 

Solid  gold  ring . . 

Pearl  necklace . 

Diamond  breast-pin . . 


,  Self-knowledge. 

Truth. 

Compassion. 

Prayer. 

Contentment. 

Patience. 

Principle. 

Resignation. 

,  Love. 


Fashion,  the  veriest  despot  in  her  decrees,  arbitrates  through 
the  agency  of  her  devotees — the  milliner,  the  modiste,  and  the 
tailor — the  stvle  and  manner  of  one’s  habiliments  :  and  so 

y 

absolute  is  her  sway  in  this  matter,  that  it  is  difficult,  perhaps, 
to  indicate  any  class  who  may  boast  exemption  from  her  juris¬ 
diction. 

Fashion  rules  the  world,  and  a  most  tyrannical  mistress  she 
is — compelling  people  to  submit  to  the  most  inconvenient 
things  imaginable,  for  her  sake. 

She  pinches  our  feet  with  tight  shoes — or  chokes  us  with  a 
tight  handkerchief,  or  squeezes  the  breath  out  of  our  bodies  by 
tight  lacing;  she  makes  people  sit  up  <by  night  when  they 
ought  to  be  in  bed,  and  keeps  them  in  bed  when  they  ought  to 
be  up.  She  makes  it  vulgar  to  wait  on  one’s  self,  and  genteel 
to  live  idle  and  useless.  She  makes  people  visit  when  they 
would  rather  be  at  home,  eat  when  they  are  not  hungry,  and 
drink  when  they  are  not  thirsty.  She  invades  our  pleasure, 
and  interrupts  our  business.  She  compels  people  to  dress  gayly 
— whether  upon  their  own  property  or  that  of  others.  She 
ruins  health  and  produces  sickness — destroys  life  and  occasions 
premature  death.  She  makes  foolish  parents,  invalids  of  chil¬ 
dren,  and  servants  of  us  all.  She  is  a  tormentor  of  conscience, 
despoiler  of  morality,  an  enemy  to  religion,  and  no  one  can  be 


308 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


her  companion  and  enjoy  either.  She  is  a  despot  of  the  high¬ 
est  grade,  full  of  intrigue  and  cunning — and  yet  husbandsr 
wives,  fathers,  mothers,  sons,  daughters,  and  servants  all  strive 
to  see  who  shall  be  most  obsequious.  Fashion  obtains  in  all 
countries — there  being  ever  some  Beau  Brummells  at  hand  to 
issue  her  mandates  and  illustrate  her  Protean  shapes  and  end¬ 
less  metamorphoses. 


“  Oh,  Fashion  !  it  were  vain  indeed  to  try  your  wondrous  flights  to  follow: 
Onward  at  such  a  pace  you  speed,  beating  the  Belle  Assemblee  hollow. 

One  moment  hovering  in  our  coats  to  change  the  cutting  of  the  skirts : 

Then  with  rude  grasp  you  seize  our  throats,  altering  the  collars  of  our  shirts  ; 
Now  trimming  up  with  ribbons  gay,  and  flowers  as  well,  a  lady’s  bonnet; 
Then  with  rash  hand  tearing  away  each  bit  of  finery  upon  it. 

Shrouding  one  day  the  arm  from  sight,  in  sleeve  so  large  that  six  might 
share  it ; 

And  making  it  next  month  so  tight,  ’tis  scarcely  possible  to  bear  it. 

Upon  a  lady’s  dress  again,  with  arbitrary  hand  it  pounces, 

Making  it  one  day  meanly  plain,  then  idly  loading  it  with  flounces.” 


There  are  few  things  that  have  not  been  done,  and  few 
things  that  have  not  been  worn,  under  the  sanction  of  fashion. 
What  could  exhibit  a  more  fantastical  appearance  than  an 
English  beau  of  the  fourteenth  century  ?  ITe  wore  long, 
pointed  shoes,  fastened  to  his  knee  by  gold  or  silver  chains ; 
hose  of  one  color  on  one  leg,  and  another  color  on  the  other ;  a 
coat,  the  one  half  white,  and  the  other  black  or  blue  ;  a  long 
silk  hood,  buttoned  under  his  chin,  embroidered  with  grotesque 
figures  of  animals,  dancing  men,  etc.  This  dress  was  the 
height  of  the  mode  in  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  In  view  of 
such  facts,  shall  we  upbraid  woman  for  her  vanity  and  love  of 

« 

• 

Leigh  Hunt  informs  us  that  fashions  have  a  short  life  or  a 
long  one,  according  as  it  suits  the  makers  to  startle  us  with  a 
variety,  or  save  themselves  observation  of  a  defect.  Hence 


THE  TOILETTE  AXD  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


309 


fashions  set  by  young  or  handsome  people  are  fugitive,  and 
such  are  usually  those  that  bring  custom  to  the  milliner. 

The  Edinburgh  Review  observes:  “Peculiarities  of  dress, 
even  amounting  to  foppery,  so  common  among  eminent  men, 
are  carried  off  from  ridicule  by  ease  in  some,  or  stateliness  in 
others.  We  may  smile  at  Chatham,  scrupulously  crowned  in 
his  best  wig,  if  intending  to  speak ;  at  Erskine,  drawing  on  his 
bright  yellow  gloves,  before  he  rose  to  plead  ;  at  Horace  Wal¬ 
pole,  in  a  cravat  of  Gibbon’s  carvings;  at  Paleigh  loading  his 
shoes  with  jewels  so  heavy  that  he  could  scarcely  walk;  at 
Petrarch,  pinching  his  feet  till  he  crippled  them ;  at  the  rings 
which  covered  the  philosophical  fingers  of  Aristotle ;  at  the 
bare  throat  of  Byron ;  the  Armenian  dress  of  Bousseau ;  the 
scarlet  and  gold  coat  of  Y oltaire ;  or  the  prudent  carefulness 
with  which  Caesar  scratched  his  head,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
locks  arranged  over  the  bald  place.  But  most  of  these  men, 
we  apprehend,  found  it  easy  to  enforce  respect  and  curb  imper¬ 
tinence. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  enter  upon  the  details  of  a  subject, 
so  copious  in  its  historic  data :  nor  can  we  attempt  to  go  into  a 
minute  examination  of  the  prodigal  magnificence  of  the  ward¬ 
robe  of  distinguished  personages,  but  must  confine  our  remarks 
to  more  modern  fashions. 

A  recent  writer  says  he  likes  “flounces  when  they  wave  and 
flow,  as  in  a  very  light  material — muslin,  or  gauze,  or  barege — 
when  a  lady  has  no  outline  and  no  mass,  but  looks  like  a  reced¬ 
ing  angel  or  a  £  dissolving  view ;  ’  but  he  does  not  like  them  in 
a  rich  material,  where  they  flop,  or  in  a  stiff  one  where  they 
bristle ;  and  where  they  break  the  flowing  lines  of  the  petticoat, 
and  throw  light  and  shade  where  you  do  not  expect  them  to 
exist.” 

“  The  amply-folding  robe,  cast  round  the  harmonious  form ; 
the  modest  clasp  and  zone  on  the  bosom ;  the  braided  hair,  or 


310 


THE  TOILETTE  AXD  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


the  veiled  head — these  were  the  fashions  alike  of  the  wife  of  a 
Phocion  and  the  mistress  of  an  Alcibiades.  A  chastened  taste 
ruled  at  their  toilets ;  and  from  that  hour  to  this,  the  forms  and 
modes  of  Greece  have  been  those  of  the  poet,  the  sculptor,  and 
the  painter.  The  flowing  robe,  the  easy  shape,  the  soft,  unfet¬ 
tered  hair,  gave  place  to  skirts  shortened  for  flight  or  contest — 
to  the  hardened  vest,  and  head  buckled  in  gold  or  silver.” 

Thence,  by  a  natural  descent,  we  have  the  iron  bodice,  stiff 
farthingale,  and  spiral  coiffure  of  the  middle  ages.  The  courts 
of  Charlemagne,  of  Edward,  Henry,  and  Elizabeth,  all  exhibit 
the  figures  of  women  as  if  in  a  state  of  siege.  Such  lines  of 
circumvallation  and  outwork ;  such  impregnable  bulwarks  of 
whalebone,  wood,  and  steel ;  such  impassable  mazes  of  gold, 
silver,  silk,  and  furbelows,  met  a  man’s  view,  that,  before  he 
had  time  to  guess  it  was  a  woman  that  he  saw,  she  had  passed 
from  his  sight ;  and  he  only  formed  a  vaguawish  on  the  sub¬ 
ject,  by  hearing,  from  an  interested  father  or  brother,  that  the 
moving  castle  was  one  of  the  softer  sex. 

O 

.  These  preposterous  fashions  disappeared  in  England  a  short 
time  after  the  Restoration  : 

“  "What  thought,  what  various  numbers  can  express 
The  inconstant  equipage  of  womans  dress. ” 

It  is  not  so  much  the  richness  of  the  material  as  the  way  it 
is  made  up,  and  the  manner  in  which  it  is  worn,  that  give  the 
desired  elegance.  A  neat  fit,  a  graceful  bearing,  and  a  proper 
harmony  between  the  complexion  and  the  colors,  have  more  to 
do  with  heightening  woman’s  attractions  than  many  are  willing 
to  believe. 

Attention  to  a  few  general  rules  would  prevent  a  great 
many  anomalous  appearances  ;  for  instance,  “  a  woman  should 
never  be  dressed  too  little,  nor  a  girl  too  much — nor  should  a 
woman  of  small  stature  attempt  large  patterns,  nor  a  bad 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


311 


walker  flounces- — nor  a  short  throat  carry  feathers,  nor  high 
shoulders  a  shawl.  From  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  there  is 
not  a  single  style  of  beauty  with  wdiicli  the  plain  straw  hat  is 
not  upon  the  best  understanding.  It  refines  the  homeliest  and 
composes  the  wildest — it  gives  the  coquettish  young  lady  a 
little  dash  of  demureness,  and  the  demure  one  a  slight  touch 
of  coquetry — it  makes  the  blooming  beauty  look  more  fresh, 
and  the  pale  one  more  interesting — it  makes  the  plain  woman 
look,  at  all  events,  a  lady,  and  the  lady  more  lady-like  still.” 

Then  all  the  sweet  associations  that  throng  about  it !  pic¬ 
tures  of  happy  childhood  and  unconscious  girlhood— thoughts 
of  blissful  bridal  tours  and  of  healthy  country  life.  Bonnets, 
too,  are  an  index  of  character.  Some  wag  has  furnished  the 
following  “  Becipe  for  a  bonnet,”  free  of  cost : 

“  Two  scraps  of  foundation,  some  fragments  of  lace, 

A  shower  of  French,  rosebuds  to  droop  o’er  the  face ; 

Fine  ribbons  and  feathers,  with  crape  and  illusion, 

Then  mix  and  de- range  them  in  graceful  confusion ; 

Inveigle  some  fairy,  out  roaming  for  pleasure, 

And  beg  the  slight  favor  of  taking  her  measure  ; 

The  length  and  breadth  of  her  dear  little  pate, 

And  hasten  a  miniature  frame  to  create  ; 

Then  pour,  as  above,  the  bright  mixture  upon  it, 

And  lo  !  you  possess  ‘  such  a  love  of  a  bonnet.’  ” 

In  searching  for  some  of  the  absurdities  of  the  toilet,  we  meet 
with  the  following.  The  ladies  of  Japan  are  said  to  gild  their 
teeth,  and  those  of  the  Indies  to  paint  them  red,  while  in 
Guzerat  the  test  of  beauty  is  to  render  them  sable.  In  Green¬ 
land,  the  women  used  to  color  their  faces  with  blue  and  yellow. 
The  Chinese  must  torture  their  feet  into  the  smallest  possible 
dimensions — a  proof  positive  of  their  contracted  understandings. 
The  ancient  Peruvians,  and  some  of  our  Indian  tribes,  used  to 
flatten  their  heads  ;  and  among  other  nations,  the  mothers,  in 
a  similar  way,  maltreat  the  noses  of  their  offspring. 


312  THE  TOILETTE  AXD  ITS  DEVOTEES. 

Rings  are  of  remote  origin  ;  their  use  is  mentioned  by  many 
of  the  classic  writers,  and  also  in  the  Scriptures. 

The  armlet  or  bracelet  is  also  of  equal  antiquity  ;  its  adoption 
is  referred  to  in  the  Book  of  Genesis.  Ear-rings,  or,  as  they 
were  formerly  styled,  pendants,  are  worn  by  most  nations,  and, 
in  many  instances,  by  both  sexes.  In  the  East  Indies  they  are 
unusually  large,  and  are  generally  ^ of  gold  and  jewels. 

Of  head-dresses,  the  earliest  kind  upon  record  seems  to  have 
been  the  tiara ;  the  caul  is  also  mentioned,  in  Holy  Writ,  as  hav¬ 
ing  been  in  vogue  in  primitive  times.  It  was  usually  made  of 
network,  of  gold  or  silk,  and  enclosed  all  the  hair.  Some  of  the 
various  items  of  a  lady’s  wardrobe  it  will  not  be  our  venture 
to  dilate  upon ;  we  may,  however,  just  refer  to  the  corsets. 
Tradition  insists  that  corsets  were  first  invented  by  a  brutal 
butcher  of  the  thirteenth  century,  as  a  punishment  for  his  wdfe. 
She  was  very  loquacious,  and,  finding  nothing,  would  cure  her, 
he  put  corsets  on  her,  in  order  to  take  away  her  breath,  and  so 
prevent  her,  as  he  thought,  from  talking.  This  cruel  punish¬ 
ment  was  inflicted  by  other  heartless  husbands  The  punish¬ 
ment  became  so  universal  at  last,  that  the  ladies  in  their  defence 
made  a  fashion  of  it,  and  so  it  has  continued  to  the  present  day. 
The  fair  sex  of  our  own  day  seem  economic  in  this  respect,  for 
however  prodigal  they  may  be  in  other  matters,  'they  are  for 
the  least  possible  waist .  Soemmering  enumerates  a  catalogue 
of  ninety-six  diseases  resulting  from  this  stringent  habit  among 
them ;  many  of  the  most  frightful  maladies — cancer,  asthma, 
and  consumption  are  among  them.  Such  unnatural  compres¬ 
sion,  moreover,  seems  to  indicate  a  very  limited  scope  for  the 
play  of  the  affections,  for  what  room  is  there  for  any  heart  at 
all?  As  if  to  atone  for  brevity  of  waist,  the  ladies  indulge, 
then,  in  an  amplitude  of  skirt.  The  merry  dames  of  Elizabeth’s 
court,  in  a  wild  spirit  of  fun,  adopted  the  fashion  of  hideously 
deforming  farthingales  to  ridicule  the  enormous  trunk-hose 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


313 


worn  by  gentlemen  of  that  period — determined,  if  not  success¬ 
ful  in  shaming  away  that  absurdity,  at  least  to  have  a  prepos¬ 
terous  contrivance  of  their  own.  The  idea  was  full  of  woman’s 
wit.  But,  alas !  they  were  caught  in  their  own  snare.  Pre¬ 
cious  stones  were  profusely  displayed  on  the  bodices  and  skirts 
of  brocade  gowns,  and  vanity  soon  discovered  that  the  stiff 
whalebone  framework  under  J:he  upper  skirt  formed  an  excel¬ 
lent  showcase  for  family  jewels.  The  passion  thus  gratified, 
the  farthingale  at  once  became  the  darling  of  court  costume, 
and  in  its  original  shape  continued  in  feminine  favor  till  the 
reign  of  Queen  Anne,  when  it  underwent  the  modification 
lately  revived  for  us — the  Hoop.  In  vain  did  the  Spectator 
lash  and  ridicule  by  turns  the  “  unnatural  disguisement ;  ”  in 
vain  did  grossest  caricatures  appear  and  wits  exhaust  their 
invention  in  lampoons  and  current  epigrams ;  in  vain  even  the 
publication  of  a  grave  pamphlet,  entitled  The  Enormous 
Abomination  of  the  Hoop  Petticoat ,  as  the  Fashion  now  is  / 
the  mode,  for  once  immutable,  stands  on  the  page  of  folly  an 
enduring  monument  of  feminine  persistency. 

Encouraged  by  the  prolonged  and  indisputed  sway  of  the 
farthingale,  the  hoop  maintained  an  absolute  supremacy  through 
the  three  succeeding  reigns,  though  often  undergoing  changes 
which  only  served  to  make  it  more  and  more  ridiculous.  The 
most  ludicrous  of  these  alterations  were  the  triangular-shaped 
hoops,  which,  according  to  the  Spectator ,  gave  a  lady  all  the 
appearance  of  being  in  a  go-cart ;  and  the  “  pocket-hoops,” 
which  look  like  nothing  so  much  as  panniers  on  the  side  of  a 
donkey — we  mean  the  quadruped.  Quite  a  funny  incident  is 
related  by  Bulwer  about  the  wife  of  an  English  ambassador 
to  Constantinople,  in  the  time  of  James  I.  The  lady,  attended 
by  her  serving-women,  all  attired  in  enormous  farthingales, 
waited  upon  the  sultana,  who  received  them  with  every  show 
of  respect  and  hospitality.  Soon,  however,  the  woman’s 


314 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


curiosity  got  the  better  of  her  courtesy,  and  expressing  her 
great  surprise  at  the  monstrous  development  of  their  form, 
she  asked  if  it  were  possible  that  such  could  be  the  shape  pecu¬ 
liar  to  the  women  of  England.  The  English  lady  in  reply  has¬ 
tened  to  assure  her  that  their  forms  in  nowise  differed  from 
those  of  the  women  of  other  countries,  and  carefully  demon¬ 
strated  to  her  Highness  the  construction  of  their  dress,  which 
alone  bestowed  the  appearance  so  puzzling  to  her.  There  could 
scarcely  be  a  more  wholesome  satire  upon  the  absurd  fashion 
than  is  conveyed  in  the  simple  recital  of  this  well-authenticated 
anecdote. 

“  It  was  but  a  year  or  two  ago  that  complaints  were  loud 
against  the  amplitude  of  ladies’  dresses.  The  extent  of  ground 
they  covered  was  almost  fabulous,  and  the  consequent  cost  of 
a  gown  was  a  serious  item  of  expenditure,  and  alarmed  young 
men  and  old.  The  young  feared  an  entanglement  which 
might  lead  to  matrimony,  when  a  lady’s  dress  was  so  costly, 
and  their  means  were  not  great ;  and  their  elders  looked  with 
apprehension  upon  a  state  of  things  which,  if  it  should  find  its 
way  into  their  homes,  would  paralyze  all  their  energies  and 
exhaust  their  resources.  But  now  the  complaint  is  that,  while 
the  dresses  are  plain  in  front,  they  have  such  immense  trains 
that  they  actually  interfere  with  the  enjoyment  of  the  public. 
A  lady  who  walks  in  the  Park  with  a  long  train  trailing  be¬ 
hind  her  in  the  dust  and  dirt,  occupies  so  much  space  that  no 
one  dares  to  follow  within  three  or  four  yards  of  her.  Imag¬ 
ine,  then,  what  the  inconvenience  must  be  in  large  assemblies 
within  doors,  where  space  is  not  illimitable,  and  where  the 
trains  are  even  longer  than  those  for  morning  wear.  The 
inconvenience  has  been  felt  to  such  a  degree  that  it  has  given 
rise  to  a  different  kind  of  costume  for  those  who  care  for  walk¬ 
ing  exercise,  and  dislike  equally  to  hold  up  their  dress,  and  to 
suffer  it  to  sweep  the  ground.  Their  costume  consists  of  a 


THE  TOILETTE  AjSD  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


315 


petticoat,  a  short  dress  which  shows  the  petticoat,  and  a  kind 
of  cloak  or  mantle  to  match.”  * 

But,  leaving  the  hoops  dragging  along  the  dusty  avenues  of 
the  long-trodden  past,  with  all  the  accumulated  ridicule  of 
ao-es  clinging  to  its  skirts,  let  us  be  thankful  that  the  decrees 
of  Fashion  have  at  length  forbidden  their  further  extension 
and  expansion  amongst  us.  % 

Feminine  fashions  repeat  themselves.  In  Pepys’  Journal, 
1662,  he  says,  “  The  women  wear  doublets,  coats,  and  great 
shirts,  just  for  all  the  world  like  mine ;  so  that  was  it  not  for  a 
long  petticoat  draggling  under  their  skirts,  nobody  could  take 
them  for  women  in  any  way  whatever.” 

Another  impeachment  concerning  cosmetics  we  find  levied 
by  John  Evelyn,  in  his  Diary  (1654),  where  he  says :  “  I  now 
observe  that  the  women  began  to  paint  themselves,  formerly  a 
most  ignominious  thing.”  In  the  question  of  face-painting 
there  is  neither  right  nor  wrong ;  it  belongs  to  the  inferior  con¬ 
siderations  of  pretty  or  ugly,  and  it  cannot  be  treated  on  serious 
grounds.  Well,  be  it  so;  and  when 

“  Affectation,  with  a  sickly  mien, 

Shows  on  her  cheek  the  roses  of  eighteen,” 

let  us  only  inquire  why  she  does  it  ?  She  does  it  unblush  - 
ingly,  as  might  be  expected,  but  does  she  do  it  to  command 
admiration  \  Of  course  we  speak  of  the  painters  of  to-day, 
not  of  those  who  belonged  to  a  past  generation. 

Hot  long  since  it  was  the  fashion  to  dye  the  hair  red  and 
gold,  and  make  the  skin  white  with  paint,  the  cheeks  pink 
with  rouge,  and  the  eyelids  stained ;  but  now  this  capricious 
goddess,  whom  fine  ladies  worship  with  such  devotion,  prefers 
dark  hair  and  olive  complexions,  and  the  rage  is  now  for  brown 


*  Saturday  Review. 


316 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


washes  as  it  used  to  be  for  white.  The  blue-black  hair  and 
dark  skin  of  the  gypsy  have  become  the  envy  of  the  ladies  of 
fashion,  and  they  hope,  by  means  of  washes  and  dies,  to  make 
themselves  “  beautiful  forever.”  * 

The  head-dresses  of  the  fair  sex  in  our  memorable  year, 
1776,  were  sometimes  simply  remarkable  for  their  enormous 
height.  Fashion  ruled  its  votaries  then  as  arbitrarily  as  in 
our  day  ;  the  coiffure  of  a  belle  of  fashion  was  described  as  “  a 
mountain  of  wool,  hair,  powder,  lawn,  muslin,  net,  lace,  gauze, 
ribbon,  flowers,  feathers,  and  wire.”  Sometimes  these  varied 
materials  were  built  up  tier  upon  tier,  like  the  stages  of  a 
pagoda ! 

“  If  we  were  called  upon  to  say  what  is  the  distinctive  char¬ 
acteristic  of  the  age  in  which  we  live,  we  should  be  inclined  to 
designate  it  as  an  age  of  shams.  Unreality  creeps  into  every¬ 
thing.  The  gravest  matters  are  tainted  with  it.  Even  in 
religion,  where  unrealities  should  find  no  place,  there  is  con¬ 
tention  about  externals  which  are  devoid  of  any  real  meaning. 
Bishops  and  clergy  contend  for  pastoral  staffs  and  vestments, 
when  they  no  longer  have  the  things  they  symbolize.  Lan¬ 
guage  is  made  to  conceal  the  truth,  and  exaggeration  distorts 
it.  Professions  of  friendship  are  hollow,  and  treachery  under¬ 
mines  the  closest  ties.  In  the  political  world  we  hear  it  for¬ 
ever  stated  that  parties  are  betrayed  by  ther  chiefs,  and  that 
principle  is  at  a  discount.  And  in  the  smaller  details  of  life 
we  find  that,  instead  of  the  instincts  of  nature  rebelling  against 
anything  that  is  unreal,  there  is  an  appetite  for  it ;  that  shams 
are  in  favor,  and  that  every  one  is  attracted  by  them  rather 
than  otherwise. 

In  the  matter  now  before  us  we  find  this  to  be  especially  the 
case.  False  hair,  false  color,  false  ears,  are  used  without 


*  London  Society. 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


317 


compunction  where  they  are  considered  to  be  needed.  The 
consequence  is  that  woman  has  become  an  imposture.  We 
do  not,  of  course,  refer  to  those  perfectly  innocent  embellish¬ 
ments  which  relate  to  the  preference  of  one  dress  for  another, 
or  for  one  style  for  another.  These  are  most  legitimate  and 
innocent.  We  refer  to  those  impostures  in  dress  by  which 
things  seem  to  be  which  are  not,  and  the  adoption  of  which  is 
in  itself  a  great  indignity  to  the  whole  race  of  womankind. 
No  one  is  bound  to  dress  herself  unbecomingly ;  but,  on  the 
contrary,  is  more  than  justified  in  making  the  best  use  of 
Nature’s  gifts.  Our  protest  is  against  the  introduction  of  nov¬ 
elties  by  which  women  are  taught  to  impose  upon  the  world, 
which  cannot  fail  to  have  a  demoralizing  influence  over  them, 
and  which  desecrate  that  modesty  which  is  the  best  jewel  a 
woman  can  wear.”  * 

In  the  early  ages  of  Christianity,  gloves  were  a  part  of  mon¬ 
astic  custom,  and,  in  later  periods,  formed  a  part  of  the  episco¬ 
pal  habit.  The  glove  was  employed  by  princes  as  a  token  of 
investiture  ;  and  to  deprive  a  person  of  his  gloves  was  a  mark 
of  divesting  him  of  his  office.  Throwing  down  a  glove  or 
gauntlet  constituted  a  challenge,  and  the  taking  it  up  an  ac¬ 
ceptance. 

Fans  have  become,  in  many  countries,  so  necessary  an  append¬ 
age  of  the  toilet  with  both  sexes,  that  a  word  respecting  them 
in  this  place  seems  demanded.  The  use  of  them  was  first  dis¬ 
covered  in  the  East,  where  the  heat  suggested  their  utility.  In 
the  Greek  Church  a  fan  is  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  deacons, 
in  the  ceremony  of  their  ordination,  in  allusion  to  a  part  of 
their  office  in  that  Church,  which  is  to  keep  the  flies  off  the 
priests  during  the  celebration  of  the  sacrament.  In  Japan, 
where  neither  men  nor  women  wear  hats,  except  as  a  protection 

X 


*  London  Society. 


313 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


against  rain,  a  fan  is  to  be  seen  in  tlie  hand  or  the  girdle  of 
every  inhabitant.  Visitors  receive  dainties  offered  them  upon 
their  fans :  the  beggar,  imploring  charity,  holds  ont  his  fan  for 
the  alms  his  prayers  may  obtain.  In  England,  this  seemingly 
indispensable  article  was  almost  unknown  till  the  age  of  Eliza¬ 
beth.  During  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  they  became  pretty 
generally  used.  At  the  present  day,  they  are  in  universal  re¬ 
quisition.  Hats  and  bonnets  are  of  remote  antiquity :  it  is  dif¬ 
ficult  to  say  when  they  took,  their  rise.  Of  perfumeries,  also, 
little  need  be  said  ;  they  were  alwa}rs,  like  flowers,  artificial 
and  real,  favorites  with  the  fair,  as  they  ever  should  be. 

In  beings  so  near  perfection  as  the  fair  sex,  it  is  invidious  to 
point  out  defects,  and  we  refrain  from  such  audacity.  Punch 
affirms,  “  there  are  several  things  which  you  never  can  by  any 
chance  get  a  lady — be  she  young  or  old — to  confess  to.”  Here 
are  some  of  them  :  “  That  she  laces  tight ;  that  her  shoes  are 
too  small  for  her ;  that  she  is  ever  tired  at  a  ball ;  that  she 
paints ;  that  she  is  as  old  as  she  looks ;  that  she  has  been  more 
than  five  minutes  dressing ;  that  she  has  kept  you  waiting ; 
that  she  blushed  when  a  certain  person’s  name  was  mentioned ; 
that  she  ever  says  a  thing  she  doesn’t  mean  ;  that  she  is  fond  of 
scandal ;  that  she  can’t  keep  a  secret ;  that  she — she  of  all 
persons  in  the  world — is  in  love ;  that  she  doesn’t  want  a  new 
bonnet ;  that  she  can  do  with  one  single  thing  less  when  she  is 
about  to  travel ;  that  she  hasn’t  the  disposition  of  an  angel,  or 
the  temper  of  a  saint — or  how  else  could  she  go  through  one- 
half  of  what  she  does  ?  that  she  doesn’t  know  better  than  every 
one  else  what  is  best  for  her  ;  that  she  is  a  flirt  or  a  coquette  ; 
that  she  is  ever  in  the  wrong.” 

A  curious  correspondent  in  Notes  and  Queries  observes  that, 
notwithstanding  the  mutations  of  fashion  in  England,  some  old 
habits  are  still  retained  with  great  tenacity.  “  The  Thames 
watermen  rejoice  in  the  dress  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  while 


THE  TOILETTE  AXD  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


319 


the  royal  beef-eaters  (buffetiers)  wear  that  of  private  soldiers 
of  the  time  of  Henry  YII. ;  the  blue-coat  boy,  the  costume  of 
the  reign  of  Edward  YI. ;  and  the  London  charity-school  girls 
the  plain  mob  cap  and  long  gloves  of  the  time  of  Queen  Anne. 
In  the  brass  badge  of  the  cabman  we  see  a  retention  of  a  dress 
of  Elizabethan  retainers,  while  the  shoulder-knots  that  once 
decked  an  officer  now  adorn  a  footman.  The  attire  of  a  sailor 
of  the  reign  of  William  III.  is  now  seen  among  our  fishermen. 
The  university  dress  is  as  old  as  the  age  of  the  Smithfield  mar¬ 
tyrs.  The  linen  bands  of  the  pulpit  and  the  bar  are  abridg¬ 
ments  of  the  falling  collar.55  Shoes  with  very  long  points,  full 
two  feet  in  length,  were  invented  by  Henry  Plantagenet,  Duke 
of  Anjou,  to  conceal  an  excrescence  on  one  of  his  feet. 
Others,  on  the  contrary,  adopted  fashions  to  set  off  their  pe¬ 
culiar  beauties — as  Isabella  of  Bavaria,  remarkable  for  her 
gallantry  and  the  fairness  of  her  complexion,  who  introduced 
the  fashion  of  leaving  the  shoulders  and  part  of  the  neck  un¬ 
covered. 

A  shameful  extravagance  in  dress  has  been  a  most  venerable 
folly  in  spite  of  the  enactment  of  sumptuary  laws.  In  the  reign 
of  Bichard  II.,  the  dress  was  sumptuous  beyond  belief.  Sir 
John  Arundel  had  a  change  of  no  less  than  fifty-two  new  suits 
of  cloth  of  gold  tissue.  Brantome  records  of  Elizabeth,  Queen 
of  Philip  II.  of  Spain,  that  she  never  wore  a  gown  twice.  It 
cannot  be  denied  that  the  votaries  of  fashion  too  often  starve 
their  happiness  to  feed  their  vanity  and  pride.  A  passion  for 
dress  is  nothing  new ;  a  satirist  thus  lampoons  the  ladies  of  his 
day: 

‘  ‘  What  is  the  reason — can  you  guess, 

Why  men  are  poor,  and  women  thinner  ? 

So  much  do  they  for  dinner  dress, 

That  nothing's  left  to  dress  for  dinner.” 

It  is  not  women  alone  that  evince  a  proclivity  in  this  direc- 


320 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


tion ;  there  are  as  many  coxcombs  in  the  world  as  coquettes. 
The  folly  is  more  reprehensible  in  the  former  than  the  latter 
because  it  has  even  less  show  of  excuse. 

Leigh  Hunt  says :  “  Beauty  too  often  sacrifices  to  fashion. 
The  spirit  of  fashion  is  not  the  beautiful,  but  the  wilful ;  not 
the  graceful,  but  the  fantastic  ;  not  the  superior  in  the  abstract, 
but  the  superior  in  the  worst  of  all  concretes — the  vulgar.  It 
is  the  vulgarity  that  can  afford  to  shift  and  vary  itself,  opposed 
to  the  vulgarity  that  longs  to  do  so,  but  cannot.  The  high 
point  of  taste  and  elegance  is  to  be  sought  for,  not  in  the  most 
fashionable  circles,  but  in  the  best-bred,  and  such  as  can  dis¬ 
pense  with  the  eternal  necessity  of  never  being  the  same  thing.” 

The  mere  devotees  of  Fashion  have  been  defined  as  a  class 
of  would-be-refined  people,  perpetually  struggling  in  a  race  to 
escape  from  the  fancied  vulgar.  Neatness  in  our  costume  is 
needful  to  our  self-respect ;  a  person  thinks  better  of  himself 
when  neatly  clad,  and  others  form  a  similar  estimate  of  him. 
It  has  been  quaintly  said  that  “  A  coat  is  a  letter  of  credit 
written  with  a  needle  upon  broadcloth.” 

Character  is  indexed  by  costume.  First  impressions  are 
thus  formed  which  are  not  easily  obliterated.  Taste  and  neat¬ 
ness  in  dress  distinguish  the  refined  from  the  vulgar.  Persons 
of  rude  feelings  are  usually  roughly  attired ;  they  evince  none 
of  the  grace  and  delicacy  of  the  cultivated  in  intellect,  morals, 
and  manners. 

Pride,  like  laudanum,  and  other  poisonous  medicines,  is 
beneficial  in  small,  though  injurious  in  large  quantities.  No 
man,  who  is  not  pleased  with  himself,  even  in  a  personal  sense, 
can  please  others,  for  it  is  the  belief  of  his  own  grace  that 
makes  him  graceful  and  gracious.  If  it  be  a  recommendation 
to  dress  our  minds  to  the  best  advantage,  and  to  render  our¬ 
selves  as  agreeable  as  possible,  why  should  it  be  an  objection 
to  bestow  the  same  pains  upon  our  personal  appearance  ? 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


321 


Girard,  the  famous  French  painter,  when  very  young,  was 
the  bearer  of  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Lanjuinais,  then  of  the 
Council  of  Napoleon.  The  young  painter  was  shabbily  attired, 
and  his  reception  was  extremely  cold ;  but  Lanjuinais  discov¬ 
ered  in  him  such  striking  proofs  of  talent,  good  sense,  and 
amiability,  that  on  Girard’s  rising  to  take  leave,  he  rose  too,  and 
accompanied  his  visitor  to  the  ante-chamber.  The  change  was 
so  striking  that  Girard  could  not  avoid  an  expression  of  sur¬ 
prise.  “  My  young  friend,”  said  Lanjuinais,  anticipating  the 
inquiry,  “  we  receive  an  unknown  person  according'  to  his  dress 
— we  take  leave  of  him  according  to  his  merit.” 

Ben  Jonson,  in  one  of  his  plays,  expresses  the  same  opinion  : 

“  Believe  it,  sir, 

That  clothes  do  much  upon  the  wit,  as  weather 

Does  on  the  brain ;  and  thence,  sir,  comes  your  proverb, 

The  tailor  makes  the  man.  ” 

One  of  our  greatest  historians  says :  “  Dress  is  characteristic 
of  manners,  and  manners  are  the  mirror  of  ideas.” 

Old  coats  are  essential  to  the  ease  of  the  body  and  mind  ; 
and  some  of  the  greatest  achievements  of  men  have  been  exe¬ 
cuted  when  the  owners  were  in  rags.  Napoleon  wore  an  old, 
seedy  coat  during  the  whole  of  the  Russian  campaign;  and 
Wellington  wore  one  out  at  the  elbow  at  Waterloo.  Poets  are 
proverbial  for  their  penchant  for  seedy  garments. 

“  A  hat  is  the  symbol  and  characteristic  of  its  wearer.  It  is 
a  sign  and  token  of  his  avocation,  habits,  and  opinions — the 
creature  of  his  phantasy.  Minerva-like,  it  bursts  forth  in  full 
maturity  from  his  brain.  Extravagance,  pride,  cold-hearted¬ 
ness,  and  vulgarity,  with  many  other  of  the  ruling  passions,  may 
be  detected  by  its  form  and  fashion.  One  may  ascertain 
whether  a  man  is  whimsical,  grotesque,  or  venially  flexible  in 
his  taste,  by  this  test.  Much  may  be  deduced  from  the  style 
in  which  it  is  worn.” 

21 


999, 

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THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


The  celebrated  poet  and  professor,  Buschin,  who  was  very 
careless  in  his  dress,  went  out  in  his  dressing-gown,  and  met  in 
the  street  a  citizen  with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  The  gen¬ 
tleman,  however,  passed  him,  without  even  raising  his  hat. 
Divining  the  cause,  the  poet  hastened  home,  and  put  on  a  cloak 
of  velvet  and  ermine,  in  which  he  again  went  out,  and  con¬ 
trived  once  more  to  meet  the  same  citizen,  who  this  time  raised 
his  hat,  and  bowed  profoundly.  This  made  the  poet  still  more 
angry,  when  he  saw  that  his  velvet  cloak  claimed  more  respect 
than  his  professorship  and  poetical  fame.  He  hastened  home, 
threw  his  cloak  on  the  floor,  and  stamped  on  it,  saying,  “  Art 
thon  Buschin,  or  am  I  ?  ” 

It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  ladies  seldom  become  gray,  while 
the  heads  of  the  u  lords  of  creation”  are  often  early  in  life 
either  bald  or  gray — sometimes  both.  Douglas  Jerrold  tells  a 
piquant  joke  as  follows:  “  At  a  private  party  in  London,  a  lady 
— who,  though  in  the  autumn  of  life,  had  not  lost  all  dreams 
of  its  spring — said  to  Jerrold,  ‘I  cannot  imagine  what  makes 
my  hair  turn  gray  ;  I  sometimes  fancy  it  must  be  the  “  essence 
of  rosemary  ”  with  which  my  maid  is  in  the  habit  of  brushing 
it.’  ‘  I  should  rather  be  afraid,  madam,’  replied  the  dramatist, 
‘  that  it  is  the  essence  of  Time  ’  (thyme).” 

“  What  is  life — the  flourishing  array 
Of  the  proud  summer  meadow  which  to-day 
Wears  her  green  flush,  and  is  to-morrow  hay.” 

Compared  with  earlier  times,  with  some  slight  exceptions, 
our  modern  costume  certainly  has  the  preeminence :  it  has 
been  said  that  to  this  cause  is  to  be  attributed  the  seeming  ab¬ 
sence,  in  our  day,  of  any  transcendent  instances  of  remarkable 
beauty  in  the  fair  sex :  all  may  be  made  up  attractively  where 
even  Nature  has  been  niggard  of  her  endowments.  Dress  con¬ 
fers  dignity  and  self-satisfaction,  besides  possessing  the  advan- 


THE  TOILETTE  AND  ITS  DEVOTEES. 


323 


tasfe  of  attractiveness.  We  are  startled  to  liear  a  man  well 
attired  use  vulgar  speech,  but  our  amazement  is  materially  less¬ 
ened  if  the  party  be  attached  to  a  very  menial  employment 
and  is  enveloped  in  meaner  clothes.  Over-fastidiousness  at  the 
toilet  is,  nevertheless,  an  evil  equally  to  be  deprecated  :  a  fop 
is  as  much  to  be  despised  as  a  slattern  or  shrew — both  are  ob¬ 
noxious  to  good  taste. 

Prompted  by  their  loyalty  to  woman,  we  find  the  poets  have 
ever  made  her  charms  the  inspiring  theme  of  their  muse  ;  not, 
however,  in  the  realm  of  song  merely  has  she  been  celebrated  : 
sober  writers  in  prose  have  been  scarcely  less  enthusiastic  in 
their  laudations.  Jeremy  Taylor  styles  woman  “  the  precious 
porcelain  of  human  clay.”  Not  only  is  she  potent  in  physical 
endowment — hers  is  the  more  enduring  excellence  of  moral 
beauty,  for  her  heart  is  the  home  of  the  virtues ;  and  while 
the  fascinations  of  her  personal  beauty  captivate  the  sense,  our 
grateful  love  and  veneration  do  willing  homage  to  her  moral 
excellence  and  worth.  Therefore,  with  one  who  felt  the  mys¬ 
tic  power  of  her  bewildering  charms,  we  exclaim — 

“  Denied  the  smile  from  partial  beauty  won, 

Oh,  what  were  man — a  world  without  a  sun !  ” 

We  yet  instinctively  yield  to  the  still  more  potent  influence 
of  her  enduring  love,  her  patient  faith,  and  the  nameless  clus¬ 
ters  of  graces  which  constitute  her  moral  beauty. 

It  was  a  pertinent  and  forcible  saying  of  the  Emperor  Na¬ 
poleon  that  “  a  handsome  woman  pleases  the  eye,  but  a  good 
woman  pleases  the  heart.  The  one  is  a  jewel,  and  the  other 
the  casket.” 

A  contemporary  poet  has  epitomized  it  all  in  two  flowing 
stanzas : 

‘  ‘  What’s  a  fair  or  noble  face,  if  the  mind  ignoble  be  ? 

What  though  Beauty,  in  each  grace,  may  her  own  resemblance  see  ! 

Eyes  may  catch  from  heaven  their  spell,  lips  the  ruby’s  light  recall; 

In  the  Home  for  Love  to  dwell  one  good  feeling’s  worth  them  all. 


324 


THE  TOILETTE  AUDITS  DEVOTEES. 


“  Give  me  Virtue’s  rose  to  trace,  honor’s  kindling  glance  and  mien, 
Howsoever  plain  the  face,  Beauty  is  where  these  are  seen  ! 

Haven  ringlets  o’er  the  snow  of  the  whitest  neck  may  fall ; 

In  the  Home  for  love  we  know  one  good  feeling’s  worth  them  all  I  ” 

Beauty  being  tlie  theme  with  which  our  chapter  commenced, 
it  should  also  conclude  it.  We  sum  up  the  case,  then,  as  legal 
gentlemen  have  it,  in  the  words  of  an  American  poetess : 

“  Thou  wert  a  worship  in  the  ages  olden, 

Thou  bright-veiled  image  of  divinity, 

Crowned  with  such  gleams,  imperial  and  golden, 

As  Phidias  gave  to  immortality  ! 

A  type  exquisite  of  the  pure  Ideal, 

Forth  shadowed  in  perfect  loveliness — 

Embodied  and  existent  in  the  Real, 

A  perfect  shape  to  kneel  before  and  bless.” 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 

Which  side  do  you  propose  to  advocate  ?  Is  it  better  to  make 
self  the  common  centre,  to  which  all  conceivable  interests  are 
to  converge ;  or,  like  the  sun,  to  diffuse  all  around  the  genial 
glow  of  generous  sympathy  for  others  ?  Do  you  demur  to  the 
form  of  the  proposition,  as  being  too  absolute  ;  and  insist  that 
a  neutral  course,  a  midway  path  between  the  two  extremes,  is 
the  “  golden  mean  ”  ?  Granted,  and  that  would  settle  the  ques¬ 
tion,  were  it  not  the  almost  inevitable  tendency  of  our  frail 
humanity  to  drift  speedily  to  the  one  extreme,  but  not  to  the 
other.  If,  therefore,  self-indulgence  is  the  prevailing  proclivity 


326 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


of  most  people,  and  self-denial  the  converse  of  the  proposi¬ 
tion,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  try  the  question  in  some  of  its 
relations,  direct  and  collateral,  to  ourselves  and  others.  To 
begin,  then,  with  self,  since  we  profess  to  know  something 
about  the  party,  although,  perchance,  it  may  be  but  a  superfi¬ 
cial  acquaintance  at  best.  The  personal  pronoun  I,  indeed,  cuts 
a  very  prominent  and  important  figure  in  the  world,  and  is  of 
prime  significance  to  each  of  us  respectively.  Let  us,  then, 
forget  the  egotism  that  is  thus  more  than  implied,  and  proceed 
with  our  investigation.  It  is  quite  right  to  stand  up  for  Num¬ 
ber  One ,  on  all  occasions,  for  not  only  has  the  individual  nu¬ 
merical  precedence,  but  the  prior  claim.  It  has  been  justly 
said,  that  “self-love  is  not  so  vile  a  thing  as  self-neglecting. 
You  cannot  find  a  more  companionable  person  than  yourself, 
if  proper  attention  be  paid  to  the  individual.  Yourself  will 
go  with  you  wherever  you  like,  and  come  away  when  you  please 
— approve  your  jokes,  assent  to  your  propositions,  and,  in  short, 
be  in  every  way  agreeable,  if  you  only  learn  the  art  of  being  on 
good  terms  with  yourself.  This,  however,  is  not  so  easy  as  some 
imagine,  who  do  not  often  try  the  experiment.  Yourself,  when 
it  catches  you  in  company  with  no  other  person,  is  apt  to  be  a 
severe  critic  on  your  faults  and  foibles,  and  when  you  are  cen¬ 
sured  by  yourself,  it  is  generally  the  severest  and  most  intoler¬ 
able  species  of  reproof.  It  is  on  this  account  that  you  are  afraid 
of  yourself,  and  seek  any  associates,  no  matter  how  inferior, 
whose  bold  chat  may  keep  yourself  from  playing  the  censor. 
Yourself  is  likewise  a  jealous  friend.  If  neglected  and  slighted, 
it  becomes  a  bore ,  and  to  be  left,  even  a  short  time,  ‘  by  your¬ 
self  J  is  then  regarded  as  actually  a  cruel  penance,  as  many  find 
when  youth,  health,  or  wealth  have  departed.  How  important 
is  it  then  to  6  know  thyself/  to  cultivate  thyself,  to  respect  thy¬ 
self,  to  love  thyself  warmly  but  rationally.  A  sensible  self  is  the 
best  of  guides,  for  few  commit  errors  but  in  broad  disregard  of 

O'  o 


THE  SELFISH  AXD  THE  SOCIAL. 


327 


its  admonitions.  It  tugs  continually  at  the  skirt  of  men  to  draw 
them  from  their  cherished  vices.  It  holds  up  its  shadowy  lin¬ 
ger  in  warning  when  you  go  astray,  and  it  sermonizes  sharply 
on  your  sins  after  they  have  been  committed.  Our  nature  is 
twofold,  and  its  noblest  part  is  the  self  to  which  we  refer.” 

Wordsworth’s  excellent  counsel  is  meant  to  be  personal: 

‘ 1  By  all  means,  use  sometimes  to  be  alone  ; 

Salute  thyself ;  see  what  thy  soul  doth  wear ; 

Dare  to  look  in  thy  chest,  for  ’tis  thine  own, 

And  tumble  up  and  down  what  thou  findest  there.” 

Since  the  longer  we  live  in  the  world,  and  the  more  we  test 
the  value  of  mundane  friendships  we  prove  their  insecurity, 
it  is  better  to  be  fortified  against  surprisals  and  disappoint¬ 
ments  by  cherishing  a  good  opinion  of,  and  acquaintance  with 

— one’s  self.  We  must  not  confound  a  jprojper  regard  for  one’s 

* 

own  interest  with  what  is  usually  termed  selfishness ;  because 
much  that  may  seem  like  it  may  be  caused  by  the  peculiar  cir¬ 
cumstances  in  which  a  person  may  be  placed. 

“  0  cynic,  deem  no  more  the  world  all  base  ; 

And  scoff  no  more  with  either  tongue  or  pen, — 

You  do  not  see  the  face  behind  the  face  ! 

As  God  exists,  there  must  be  noble  men  ; 

And  many,  who  to  us  seem  hard  and  cold, 

Have  sunshine  in  their  hearts  as  pure  as  gold  ! 

In  the  battle  of  life,  a  perpetual  contest  and  struggle  for  the 
acquisition  of  its  emoluments  and  prizes  is  kept  up  ;  so  that  to 
enter  the  lists  successfully,  a  man  must  be  fitly  panoplied,  and 
thus  he  may  seem  to  be  the  very  impersonation  of  selfishness, 
while,  in  reality,  he  may  be  of  just  the  opposite  disposition. 
Take  another  point :  the  question,  whether  man  is  capable  of 
performing  a  purely  disinterested  action,  has  long  been  a  topic 


328 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


of  dispute  witli  the  metaphysician  and  the  moralist.  Doubtless, 
the  most  specious  and  plausible,  as  well  as  popular,  hypothesis 
is  that  of  the  negative  of  the  proposition.  Among  others 
holding  to  this  side,  might  be  mentioned  Ilelvetius,  Ilobbes, 
and  Shaftesbury;  while  the  advocacy  of  the  opposite  opin¬ 
ion  has  enlisted  the  ingenious  reasoning  and  analytical  skill  of 
others,  with  Hazlitt  at  their  head.  Without  attempting  to  fol¬ 
low  the  ratiocinative  process  pursued  by  these  disputants,  we 
shall  prefer  to  leave  the  question  to  be  determined  by  the 
reader.  All  we  would  submit  is,  that  while  a  due  regard  to 
one’s  own  interest  is  a  paramount  obligation — as  self-preserva¬ 
tion  is  the  first  law  of  nature — it  does  not  necessarily  follow 
that  the  rule  should  be  so  resolutely  insisted  upon,  and  to  such 
an  extreme  as  to  absorb  all  human  sympathy  for  our  fellow- 
men.  It  is  true  that  man  is  an  individualism,  a  separate  exis¬ 
tence,  and  yet  it  is  no  less  true,  that  he  is  naturally  a  gregar¬ 
ious  being,  and  governed  by  a  social  law,  analogous  to  that  of 
gravitation,  by  which  the  physical  universe  is  controlled.  This 
law  of  moral  gravitation  is  further  reflected  by  the  lower  orders 
of  creation — animals  and  birds,  and  even  faintly  shadowed  in 
the  vegetable  kingdom ;  all  congregate  and  illustrate  the  law 
of  electric  affinities. 

It  has  been  well  remarked :  “  The  domestic  fireside  is  a  sem¬ 
inary  of  infinite  importance.  It  is  important  because  it  is  un¬ 
iversal,  and  because  the  education  it  bestows,  being  woven  in 
with  the  woof  of  childhood,  gives  form  and  color  to  the  whole 
texture  of  life.  There  are  few  who  can  receive  the  honors  of 
a  college,  but  all  are  graduates  of  the  heart.  The  learning  of 
the  university  may  fade  from  recollection ;  its  classic  lore  may 
moulder  in  the  halls  of  memory ;  but  the  simple  lessons  of 
home,  enamelled  upon  the  heart  of  childhood,  defy  the  rust  of 
years,  and  outlive  the  more  mature  but  less  vivid  pictures  of 
after  days.  So  deep,  so  lasting,  are  the  impressions  of  early 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


329 


life,  that  you  often  see  a  man  in  the  imbecility  of  age  holding 
fresh  in  his  recollection  the  events  of  childhood,  while  all  the 
wide  space  between  that  and  the  present  hour  is  a  forgotten 
waste.” 

It  is  an  old  saying,  that  charity  begins  at  home  ;  but  this  is 
no  reason  it  should  never  go  abroad ;  a  man  should  live  with 
the  world  as  a  citizen  of  the  world,  and  he  should  cherish 
charity  for  his  neighbor  as  well  as  for  his  household.  Coleridge 
remarks :  “  General  benevolence  is  begotten  and  rendered  per¬ 
manent  by  social  and  domestic  affections.  Let  us  beware  of 
that  proud  philosophy  which  affects  to  inculcate  philanthropy 
while  it  denounces  every  home-born  feeling  by  which  it  is 
produced  and  nurtured.  The  intensity  of  private  attachments 
encourages,  not  prevents,  universal  benevolence.  The  nearer 
we  approach  the  sun,  the  more  intense  his  heat,  yet  what  cor¬ 
ner  of  the  system  does  he  not  cheer  and  viv 

The  Deity  has  not  only  constituted  man  a  social  being  ;  lie 
has  also  ordained  this  moral  attribute  a  source  of  his  most  ex¬ 
quisite  enjoyment ;  so  that  he  who  possesses  a  spirit  of  benevo¬ 
lence  in  its  highest  development  is  necessarily  the  happiest  of 
mortals. 

Some  generous-hearted  beings  there  are  who  seem  to  devote 
their  lives,  and  to  derive  their  principal  enjoyment  in  minister¬ 
ing  to  the  happiness  of  their  kind :  these  are  the  joyous  spirits 
that  ever 

11  Make  sunshine  in  a  shady  place,” 

dispel  from  the  suffering  spirit  the  demon  of  despair,  and  re¬ 
flect  the  radiance  of  celestial  love  all  around,— changing  the 
heart’s  wilderness  of  worldly  care  into  a  cultured  garden  of  all 
pleasant  things.  Despite  all  efforts  to  meliorate  their  condi¬ 
tion,  however,  some  people  there  are  who  will  not  consent  to  be 
made  happy :  they  find  their  greatest  satisfaction  in  incessant 
grumbling,  and  repining  against  destiny.  Discontent,  like  a 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


09  n 

murky  cloud  impervious  to  tlie  light  of  heaven,  broods  ever 
upon  their  horizon, — no  matter  whether  their  condition  be  one 
of  privation  or  of  prosperity,  they  are  alike  dissatisfied  with 
their  lot. 

“  They' err  who  say  life  is  not  sweet, 

Though  cares  are  long  and  pleasures  fleet ; 

Though  smiles  and  tears,  and  sun  and  storm, 

Still  change  life’s  ever- varying  form. 

The  mind  that  looks  on  things  aright, 

Sees  through  the  clouds  the  deep  blue  light.” 

Cheerfulness  is  an  amulet,  a  charm  that  makes  us  perma¬ 
nently  contented  and  happy.  A  cheerful  face  is  sometimes  as 
good  for  an  invalid  as  healthy  atmosphere.  To  make  a  sick 
man  think  he  is  dying,  all  that  is  necessary  is  to  look  dismal 
and  doleful  yourself.  Merriment  is  a  safety-valve  to  the  heart 
overburdened  with  care. 

4  4  A  smile  on  the  face  and  kind  words  on  the  tongue 
Will  serve  you  as  passports  all  nations  among  ; 

A  heart  that  is  cheerful,  a  spirit  that’s  free, 

Will  carry  you  bravely  o’er  life’s  stormy  sea. 

4  4  Talk  not  of  fortune,  talk  not  of  fate — 

We  make  our  own  troubles,  however  we  prate  ! 

This  world  would  be  honey  where  now  it  is  gall, 

Were  we  but  contented  and  merry  withal !  ” 

The  cheerful  philosopher  enjoys  everything  as  he  goes  along ; 
he  does  not  fret  over  every  little  mistake  he  encounters  on 
life’s  pilgrimage.  Ilis  flow  of  spirits  never  slackens  till  the 
tide  of  life  has  ceased  to  ebb ;  hence  he  always  appears  ten 
years  younger  than  he  actually  is.  His  step  never  loses  its 
elasticity,  and  his  heart  glows  with  a  religious  love  to  God  and 
mam 

Dr.  Johnson  remarked  that  a  habit  of  looking  on  the  bright 
side  of  every  event  is  better  than  a  thousand  pounds  a  year. 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


331 


Bishop  Hall  quaintly  remarks,  “For  every  bad  there  might  be 
a  worse,  and  when  a  man  breaks  his  leg,  let  him  be  thankful 
that  it  was  not  his  neck !  ”  When  Fenelon’s  library  was  on 
fire,  “  God  be  praised,”  he  exclaimed,  “  that  it  is  not  the  dwell¬ 
ing  of  some  poor  man  !  ”  This  is  the  true  spirit  of  submission — 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  traits  that  can  possess  the  human 
heart.  Resolve  to  see  this  world  on  its  sunny  side,  and  you 
have  almost  half  won  the  battle  of  life  at  the  outset. 

'Of  all  the  bores  that  are  inflicted  upon  our  social  life,  none 
is  more  disagreeable  than  the  sour-tempered  man;  he  is  not 
content  with  being  miserable  himself,  but  he  insists  upon  mak¬ 
ing  everybody  else  so,  if  he  can.  It  is  best  not  to  let  such  an 
one  have  his  own  way. 

If  he  would  be  content  to  confine  his  mutterings  and  mur- 
murings  to  himself,  and  to  maintain  a  strict  seclusion,  he  might 
be  pardoned  and  pitied ;  but  when  he  thrusts  his  grievances 
upon  society,  he  then  becomes,  as  Dogberry  eloquently  ob¬ 
serves,  “  most  tolerable,  and  not  to  be  endured.” 

“  The  sour  man  is  always  sour ;  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
in  his  breast  is  curdled — there  is  no  sweetness  in  the  acid  prin¬ 
ciple  of  his  composition ;  nature  has  given  him  a  quantum 
sufficit  of  lemon-juice,  but  has  forgotten  the  saccharine  ingre¬ 
dient.  lie  is  sour  from  the  rising  of  the  sun  to  the  going 
down  of  the  same ;  in  sunshine  and  moonshine,  twilight  and  gas¬ 
light.  When  he  awakes  in  the  morning,  he  grumbles  because 
it  is  time  to  get  up  ;  his  coffee  is  always  too  hot  or  too  cold  ;  his 
toast  and  steak  either  overdone  or  underdone ;  he  finds  noth¬ 
ing  satisfactory  in  the  morning  papers ;  he  is  always  in  the  op¬ 
position,  let  whatever  party  be  in  the  ascendant.  When  he 
goes  out  he  invariably  grumbles  at  the  weather ;  if  it  is  a  little 
cool,  he  calls  it  Arctic  weather ;  if  it  is  mild,  he  compares  it  to 
the  tropics ;  if  it  drizzles,  he  declares  it  rains  pitchforks,  and  a 
gentle  breeze  is  a  hurricane.” 


332 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


A  man’s  life  divested  of  the  social  virtues  must  necessarily 
be  one  of  wretchedness ;  for  they  constitute  as  truly  and  es¬ 
sentially  an  integral  part  of  his  own  happiness,  as  they  confer 
happiness  upon  those  around  him  :  it  is  suicidal  to  neglect 
their  cultivation.  Philosophers,  however,  have  sought  to  urge 
this  principle  to  an  unreasonable  extreme,  by  insisting  that  the 
universal  love  of  our  species  was  but  a  fuller  development  of 
self-love ;  and  that  consequently  no  act  of  pure,  disinterested 
benevolence  could  possibly  exist.  Magnanimity  and  courage, 
as  well  as  philanthrophy  and  patriotism,  have  been  classed  to¬ 
gether  under  the  same  category — as  merely  modifications  of 
this  universal  self-love.  It  is  the  supremacy  of  wisdom  to 
cherish  this  passion,  or  principle,  and  to  submit  to  its  rule 
under  the  guidance  and  authority  of  reason ;  for  rightly  to 
estimate  life  is  to  value  it  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  real 
good  it  confers.  If  happiness  be  the  chief  good,  and  of  which 
all  are  in  diligent  pursuit,  our  reason  would  teach  us,  that  not 
in  blindly  obeying  the  selfish  impulses  or  passions  of  our  na¬ 
ture  should  we  attain  its  possession,  but  by  simply  submitting 
our  conduct  to  the  arbitration  and  test  of  that  reason,  irrespec¬ 
tive  of  present,  personal,  or  ostensible  advantage.  Lord  Shaftes¬ 
bury  remarks  that  a  great  many  people  pass  for  very  good- 
natured  persons,  for  no  other  reason  than  because  they  care 
about  nobody  but  themselves;  and  consequently,  as  nothing 
annoys  them  but  what  touches  their  own  interest,  they  never 
irritate  themselves  unnecessarily  about  what  does  not  concern 
them,  and  seem  to  be  made  of  the  very  milk  of  human  kind¬ 
ness.  This  kind  of  good -nature  is,  of  course,  the  most  con¬ 
summate  selfishness,  partaking,  in  no  small  degree,  of  a  love  of 
indolence  and  exclusive  personal  indulgence  :  such  individuals 
are  apparently  inoffensive  and  harmless  in  society,  but  they  are 
injurious,  because  in  the  way.  They  are  drones  in  the  hives 
of  human  industry,  or  if  they  accumulate,  the  common  weal  is 


THE  SELFISH  AXD  THE  SOCIAL. 


333 


little  benefited  by  their  acquisition.  Hazlitt  remarks  :  “Your 
good-natured  man  is,  generally  speaking,  one  who  does  not  like 
to  be  put  out  of  his  way :  and  as  long  as  he  can  help  it,  that  is 
till  the  provocation  comes  home  to  himself,  will  not.  He  does 
not  create  fictitious  uneasiness  out  of  the  distresses  of  others ;  he 

does  not  fret  and  fume,  and  make  himself  uncomfortable  about 

*  • 

things  he  cannot  mend,  and  that  no  way  concern  him,  even  if 
he  could  ;  but  then  there  is  no  one  who  is  more  apt  to  be  dis¬ 
concerted  by  what  puts  him  to  any  personal  inconvenience, 
however  trifling ;  who  is  more  tenacious  of  his  self-indulgences, 
however  unreasonable ;  or  who  resents  more  violently  any  inter¬ 
ruption  of  his  ease  and  comforts, — the  very  trouble  he  is  put  to 
in  resenting  it  being  felt  as  an  aggravation  of  the  injury.  A 
person  of  this  character  feels  no  emotions  of  anger  if  you  tell 
him  of  the  devastation  of  a  province,  or  the  massacre  of  the 
inhabitants  of  a  town,  or  the  enslaving  of  a  people  ;  but  if  his 
dinner  is  spoiled,  he  is  thrown  into  irretrievable  consternation 
and  confusion.  He  thinks  nothing  can  go  amiss,  as  long  as  he 
is  at  his  ease,  though  possibly  a  pain  in  his  little  finger  renders 
him  so  peevish  and  impatient  that  no  one  can  approach  his 
presence.55  Such  are  the  protean  forms  of  human  life,  that  it 
is  next  to  impossible  for  a  man  to  assume  the  same  aspect 
under  its  manifold  phases,  and  yet  be  honest :  a  disposition 
like  that  we  have  exhibited  cannot  therefore  consist  with  strict 
moral  integrity.  Good  nature,  on  the  other  hand,  has  been 
defined  “  humanity  that  costs  nothing,55  for  it  incurs  no  risk  of 
martyrdom  in  any  cause,  while  it  sacrifices  all  on  the  altar  of 
self-interest. 

1  ‘  Self  is  the  medium  least  refined  of  all 
Through  which  opinion’s  searching  beam  can  fall ; 

And  passing  there,  the  clearest,  steadiest  ray 
Will  tinge  its  light  and  turn  its  line  astray.” 


THE  SELFISH  AXD  THE  SOCIAL. 


334 


It  may  be  difficult  to  analyze  the  true  motive  which  induces 
the  patriot  to  serve  his  country’s  interest  at  the  seeming  ex¬ 
pense  of  his  own ;  it  must  be  either  a  pure  sentiment  of  disin¬ 
terested  patriot]  sm,  or  that  of  an  ardent  love  of  popular  re¬ 
nown.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  philanthropist  and  the 
pioneer  missionary ;  the  latter,  however,  is  doubtless  actuated 
by  the  higher  convictions  of  religious  obligation.  It  is  possi¬ 
ble  also  for  a  man  to  prefer  the  interests  of  his  friend  to  his 
own,  from  a  feeling  of  pure  benevolence ;  although  history  and 
experience  furnish  but  few  instances  of  such  exalted  virtue. 
It  is  contended  by  writers  adverse  to  the  proposition,  that  this 
benevolence  toward  others  is  always  found  in  proportion  to 
the  utility  they  are  likely  to  be  of  to  the  party  in  return. 

The  argument  of  Hazlitt  may  be  thus  briefly  stated — that  the 
habitual  or  known  connection  between  our  own  welfare  and 
that  of  others  is  one  great  source  of  our  attachment  to  them, 
is  not  denied ;  but  to  insist  that  it  is  the  exclusive  one,  and 
that  benevolence  has  not  a  natural  basis  of  its  own  to  rest  upon, 
as  well  as  self-love,  is  contrary  to  the  dictates  of  sound  reason 
and  human  experience.  Grant  this,  and  the  actual  effects 
which  we  observe  in  human  life  will  follow  from  both  princi¬ 
ples  combined ;  for  example,  take  that  purest  of  all  earthly 
loves — the  affection  of  the  mother  for  her  child — it  cannot  be 
the  effect  of  the  good  received  or  bestowed,  or  the  child’s 
power  of  conferring  benefits,  or  its  standing  in  need  of  assist¬ 
ance.  Are  not  the  fatigues  which  the  mother  undergoes  for 
the  child — its  helpless  condition,  its  little  vexations,  its  suffer¬ 
ings  from  ill-health  or  accidents,  additional  claims  upon  mater¬ 
nal  tenderness,  and  act  as  so  many  causes  that  tend  to  increase 
its  devotion  ? 

Again,  we  not  only  participate  in  the  successes  of  our  friends, 
but  also  in  their  reverses  and  trials,  not  for  the  reason  already 
assigned,  so  much  as  from  real  regard  to  their  welfare  ;  benev- 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


335 


olence  is  not  therefore  a  mere  physical  reflection  of  self-love : 
it  is  more  the  result  of  moral  feeling,  or  at  least  a  combination 
with  this.  It  is  the  nature  of '  compassion  or  pity  to  forget 
self,  in  the  commiseration  of  the  sufferings  of  another,  and  such 
human  hearts  yet  linger  among  us. 

“  ’Tis  a  little  thing 

To  give  a  cup  of  water  ;  yet  its  draught 
Of  cool  refreshment  drained  by  fevered  lips, 

May  give  a  shock  of  pleasure  to  the  frame 
More  exquisite  than  where  nectarian  juice 
Renews  the  life  of  joy  in  happier  hours.”  * 

The  best  portion  of  a  good  man’s  life  consists  in  such  name¬ 
less,  unrecorded,  oft  unremembered,  little  acts  of  kindness  and 
love. 

Goldsmith’s  good  nature  is  illustrated  by  many  characteristic 
incidents ;  here  is  one  :  once  visiting  a  poor  woman  whose  sick¬ 
ness  he  plainly  perceived  was  caused  by  an  empty  cupboard, 
he  sent  her,  on  his  return  home,  a  pill-box  containing  a  few 
sovereigns,  with  this  inscription  on  the  outside, — “  to  be  taken 
as  occasion  may  require.” 

Our  sympathy,  therefore,  is  not  the  servile,  ready  tool  of  our 
self-love,  but  this  latter  principle  is  itself  subservient  to,  and 
overruled  by  the  former, — that  is,  an  attachment  to  others  is  a 
real,  independent  principle  of  human  action.  The  only  sense, 
then,  in  which  our  sympathy  with  others  can  be  construed  into 
self-love,  must  be  that  the  mind  is  so  constituted,  that  without 
forethought,  or  any  reflection  in  itself,  or  when  seeming  most 
occupied  with  others,  it  is  still  governed  by  the  same  universal 
feeling  of  which  it  is  wholly  unconscious  ;  and  that  we  indulge 
in  compassion  only  because  and  in  so  far  as  it  coincides  with 
our  own  immediate  gratification.  It  is  doubtless  in  this  sense 
we  are  to  apply  the  lines  of  Pope  : . 


336 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


“  Self-love  but  serves  the  virtuous  mind  to  wake, 

As  the  small  pebble  stirs  the  peaceful  lake  ; 

The  centre  moved,  a  circle  straight  succeeds. 

Another  still,  and  still  another  speeds ; 

Friend,  parent,  neighbor,  first  its  will  embrace  ; 

His  country  next — next  the  whole  human  race.” 

In  fine,  the  argument  may  be  summed  up  in  the  Divine  re¬ 
quirement,  “  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself.”  In  proportion  as 
we  subordinate  the  selfish  principle,  we  accelerate  our  personal 
enjoyment.  The  purest  pleasure  of  life  is  the  consciousness  of 
loving  and  being  beloved. 

“  G-rant  me,  Heaven,  my  earnest  prayer — 

Whether  life  of  ease  or  care 
Be  the  one  to  me  assigned, 

That  each  coming  year  may  find 
Loving  thoughts  and  gentle  words 
Twined  within  my  bosom’s  chords, 

And  that  age  may  but  impart 
Riper  freshness  to  my  heart !  ” 

Again,  when  the  kindly  offices  of  friendship  and  charity  are 
not  required,  how  lavishly,  sometimes,  are  they  proffered  ;  but 
let  the  dark  shades  of  adversity  gather  thickly  around  us,  and 
vainly  and  long  may  we  wait  for  the  promised  sympathetic 
aid. 

> 

Sympathy  and  self-love  are  inconsistent ;  and  we  invest  man 
with  the  attribute  of  ideas  of  things  out  of  himself,  and  to  be 
influenced  by  them  he  must  necessarily  cease  to  be  a  merely 
selfish  agent.  ITe  is  then  under  another  law  and  another  ne¬ 
cessity,  and  in  spite  of  himself  is  forced  out  of  the  direct  line  of 
his  own  interest,  both  future  and  present,  by  other  principles 
inseparable  from  his  nature. 


THE  SELFISH  AXD  THE  SOCIAL. 


337 


“  Man,  like  the  generous  vine,  supported  lives  ; 

The  strength  he  gains  is  from  th’  embrace  he  gives. 

On  their  own  axis,  as  the  planets  run. 

Yet  make  at  once  their  circle  round  the  sun— 

So  two  consistent  motions  act  the  soul ; 

And  one  regards  itself  and  one  the  whole. 

Thus  God  and  nature  linked  the  general  frame. 

And  bade  self-love  and  social  be  the  same  !  ” 

A  smile  speaks  the  universal  language.  “If  I  value  myself 
on  anything,”  said  Hawthorne,  “  it  is  on  having  a  smile  that 
children  love.”  They  are  such  prompt  little  beings,  too ;  they 
require  so  little  prelude ;  hearts  are  won  in  two  minutes,  at 
that  frank  period,  and  so  long  as  you  are  true  to  them  they  will 
be  true  to  you.  They  use  no  argument,  no  bribery.  They 
have  a  hearty  appetite  for  gifts,  no  doubt,  but  it  is  not  for  these 
they  love  the  giver.  Take  the  wealth  of  the  world  and  lavish 
it  with  counterfeited  affection ;  1  will  win  all  the  children^ 
hearts  away  from  you  by  empty-handed  love.  The  gorgeous 
toys  will  dazzle  them  an  hour ;  then  their  instincts  will  revert 
to  their  natural  friends. 

To  love  children  is  to  love  childhood,  instinctively,  at  what¬ 
ever  distance,  the  first  impulse  being  one  of  attraction,  thougli  it 
may  be  checked  by  later  discoveries.  Unless  your  heart  com¬ 
mands  at  least  as  long  a  range  as  your  eye,  it  is  not  worth 
much. 

“  Allow  me,  gentlemen,”  said  Curran,  one  evening  to  a  large 
party,  “  to  give  you  a  sentiment.  When  a  boy,  I  was  one  morn¬ 
ing  playing  at  marbles  in  the  village  of  Ball-alley,  with  a  light 
heart  and  lighter  pocket;  The  gibe  and  the  jest  went  gladly 
round,  when  suddenly  among  us  appeared  a  stranger,  of  a  re¬ 
markable  and  very  cheerful  aspect ;  his  intrusion  was  not  the 
least  restraint  upon  our  merry  little  assemblage.  He  was  a 
benevolent  creature,  and  the  days  of  infancy  (after  all,  the 
happiest  we  shall  ever  see)  perhaps  rose  upon  his  memory. 

22 


338 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


Heaven  bless  him  !  I  see  his  fine  form,  at  the  distance  of  half 
a  century,  just  as  lie  stood  before  me  in  the  little  Ball-alley,  in 
the  day  of  my  childhood.  His  name  was  Boyse  ;  he  was  the 
rector  of  Newmarket.  To  me  he  took  a  particular  fancy.  I 
was  winning,  and  full  of  waggery ;  thinking  everything  that 
was  eccentric,  and  by  no  means  a  miser  of  my  eccentrici¬ 
ties  ;  every  one  was  welcome  to  a  share  of  them,  and  I  had 
plenty  to  spare,  after  having  frightened  the  company.  Some 
sweatmeats  easily  bribed  me  home  with  him.  I  learned  from 
Boyse  my  alphabet  and  my  grammar,  and  the  rudiments  of  the 
classics.  He  taught  me  all  he  could,  and  then  he  sent  me  to  a 
school  at  Middleton.  In  short,  he  made  me  a  man.  I  recollect 
it  was  about  thirty-five,  years  afterwards,  when  I  had  risen  to 
some  eminence  at  the  bar,  and  when  I  had  a  seat  in  Parliament, 
on  my  return  one  day  from  the  Court,  I  found  an  old  gentleman 
seated  alone  in  my  drawing-room,  his  feet  familiarly  placed  on 
each  side  of  the  Italian  marble  chimney-piece,  and  his  whole 
air  bespeaking  the  consciousness  of  one  quite  at  home.  He 
turned  round — it  was  my  friend  of  Ball-alley.  I  rushed  in¬ 
stinctively  into  his  arms,  and  burst  into  tears.  Words  cannot 
describe  the  scene  which  followed.  £You  are  right,  sir,  you 
are  right.  The  chimney-piece  is  yours — the  pictures  are  yours 
— the  house  is  yours.  You  gave  me  all  I  have — my  friend — 
my  benefactor  ! 5  He  dined  with  me  ;  and  in  the  evening  I 
caught  the  tear  glistening  in  his  fine  blue  eye,  when  he  saw  poor 
little  Jack,  the  creature  of  his  bounty,  rising  in  the  House  of 
Commons  to  reply  to  a  right  honorable.  Poor  Boyse  !  he  is 
now  gone ;  and  no  suitor  had  a  longer  deposit  of  practical 
benevolence  in  the  Court  above.  This  is  his  wine — let  us  drink 
to  his  memory  !  ” 

Southey  must  have  sung  from  his  heart  those  sweet  syllables 
about  the  longevity  of  love : 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


339 


“  They  sin  who  tell  us  love  can  die  :  ♦ 

With  life  all  other  passions  fly, 

All  others  are  but  vanity. 

But  love  is  indestructible  ! 

Its  holy  flame  forever  burneth, 

From  heaven  it  came,  to  heaven  retumeth  ! 

Too  oft,  on  earth,  a  troubled  guest, 

At  times  deceived,  at  times  opprest ; 

It  is  here  tried  and  purified 
Then  hath  in  heaven  its  perfect  rest. 

It  soweth  here  with  toil  and  care, 

But  the  harvest-time  of  love  is  there !  ” 


Charity,  or  love  to  our  neighbor,  is  “  the  best-natured  thing 
and  the  best-complexioned  thing  in  the  world.  Let  us  express 
this  sweet,  harmonious  affection  in  these  jarring  times,  that  sc, 
if  it  be  possible,  we  may  tune  the  world  into  better  music.”  * 
Sydney  Smith  asserts  that  “there  is  nothing  which  an 
Englishman  enjoys  more  than  the  pleasure  of  sulkiness — of  not 
being  forced  to  hear  a  word  from  anybody  which  may  occasion 
to  him  the  necessity  of  replying.  It  is  not  so  much  that  Mr. 
Bull  disdains  to  talk,  as  that  Mr.  Bull  has  nothing  to  say.  His 
forefathers -have  been  out  of  spirits  for  six  or  seven  hundred 
years,  and,  seeing  nothing  but  fog  and  vapor,  he  is  out  of 
spirits,  too ;  and  when  there  is  no  selling  or  buying,  or  no  busi¬ 
ness  to  settle,  he  prefers  being  alone,  and  looking  at  the  fire.” 

Wealth  and  station  are  what  we  call  the  accidents  of  life, 
or  rather  they  are  apportioned  by  Providence ;  but  love  may 
exist  with  humble  poverty  as  really  as  with  luxury  and  pomp. 

‘  ‘  In  ourselves  the  sunshine  dwells, 

From  ourselves  the  music  swells  ; 

By  ourselves  our  life  is  fed 
With  sweet  or  bitter  daily  bread.” 


*  Cudworth. 


340 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE  SOCIAL. 


Sydney  Sjnith  pleasantly  remarks,  “  God  lias  given  us  wit 
and  flavor,  and  brightness  and  laughter  and  perfumes,  to  enliven 
the  days  of  man’s  pilgrimage,  and  to  charm  his  pained  steps 
over  the  burning  marie.”  And  our  great  essayist  *  wisely 
insists  that  “  there  is  no  real  life  but  cheerful  life.”  Steele 
said,  “  I  am  persuaded  that  every  time  a  man  smiles,  but  much 
more  so  when  he  laughs,  it  adds  something  to  this  fragment  of 
life.”  He  has  another  piquant  remark,  where  he  refers  to 
sociality  :  “  Conversation  never  sits  easier  upon  us  than  when  we 
now  and  then  discharge  ourselves  in  a  symphony  of  laughter, 
which  may  not  improperly  be  called  the  chorus  of  conversa¬ 
tion.”  Therefore  valetudinarians  and  long-visaged  personages, 
who  prefer  to  look  on  the  dark  side  of  things,  should  be  sworn, 
before  they  enter  into  company,  not  to  say  a  word  of  themselves 
or  their  tribulations  until  the  meeting  is  dissolved.  There  are 
some  ascetic  souls,  whose  lugubrious  looks  cast  dark  shadows 
wherever  they  go ;  and  whose  presence,  like  the  fabled  upas 
tree,  diffuses  a  deadly  poison  over  all  the  felicities  and  gayeties 
of  life.  Who  does  not  prefer  the  joyance  and  the  fragrant 
breath  of  the  warm,  jubilant  spring,  with  her  gay  garniture  of 
flowers  and  sweet  minstrelsy  of  birds,  to  the  icy  breath  and 
solemn  desolation  of  winter  ?  So  a  radiant  face,  all  aglow  with 
sunny  smiles,  and  a  voice  attuned  to  the  music  of  love,  embel¬ 
lish  and  bless  with  their  inspiration  all  with  whom  they  come 
in  contact. 

‘  ‘  To  laugh  is  man’s  prerogative,  we  sayrf  — 

It  makes  the  wheels  of  nature  glibber  play ; 

Dull  care  suppresses, — smooths  life’s  thorny  way, — 

Propels  the  dancing  current  through  each  vein, — 

Braces  the  nerves, — corroborates  the  brain, — 

Moves  every  muscle, — makes  one  young  again  !  ” 

“  There  is  an  old-fashioned  virtue  which  often  strikes  us  as 


*  Addison. 


THE  SELFISH  AND  THE.  SOCIAL. 


tel 

very  little  in  favor  with  the  people  of  our  time,  probably  because 
they  do  not  recognize  it  as  a  virtue  at  all ;  and,  indeed,  it  does 
its  work  with  such  a  bright  face  and  easy  air  that  among  the 
strenuous,  austere  brotherhood  of  duties  and  merits  it  may  well 
pass  for  something  else — as  a  mean  and  worldly  conformity, 
perhaps.  We  name  it  Complaisance.  In  fact,  we  doubt  if 
anybody  gives  it  its  proper  rank  until  he  misses  and  feels  the 
want  of  it.  Even  the  old  writers,  who  had  much  more  pro¬ 
nounced  ideas  on  the  duty  of  being  pleasant  than  people  have 
nowadays,  hesitate  to  place  it  among  the  moral  virtues.  True, 
it  renders  a  superior  amiable,  an  equal  agreeable,  an  inferior 
acceptable.  It  sweetens  conversation  ;  it  produces  good  nature 
and  mutual  benevolence  ;  £  it  encourages  the  timorous,  soothes 
the  turbulent,  humanizes  the  fierce,  and  distinguishes  a  society 
of  civilized  persons  from  a  confusion  of  savages ; 5  and  yet 
because  it  never  makes  itself  disagreeable  or  unwelcome  there 
is  a  doubt  whether  to  call  it  a  virtue  simple  or  only  a  social 
virtue — that  is,  a  charm,  a  grace,  a  fine  manner,  a  performance 
for  the  actor’s  sake.  Yet  genuine  complaisance,  as  the  effusion 
of  a  benevolent  nature,  rendering  the  sacrifice  of  personal  in¬ 
clination  and  ease  a  slight,  untliought-of  thing  when  set  against 
the  general  satisfaction,  is  surely  worthy  of  some  considerable 
estimation  even  on  the  score  of  self-denial. 

“  True  complaisance  never  sleeps  where  the  reisany  body  to 
please  or  to  make  more  comfortable.  Politeness  is  society’s 
method  of  making  things  run  smooth.  Complaisance  is  a  more 
intimate  quality — an  impulse  to  seek  points  of  agreement  with 
others;  it  is  the  spirit  of  welcome,  whether  to  strangers,  or  to 
new  suggestions,  untried  pleasures,  fresh  impressions.  It  is  a 
belief  in  the  reciprocal  services  which  men,  as  members,  of 
society,  can  confer  on  each  other — a  willingness  to  confer  and 
to  receive;  it  is  toleration,  accessibility,  and  expectation.  In 
fact,  it  is  charity  in  its  social  aspect,  as  concerned  with  the 


342 


THE  SELFISH  AXD  THE  SOCIAL. 


minor  satisfactions  and  perplexities  of  life.  Conscience  is 
rarely  a  sleepless  influence.”  * 

Let  us,  then,  seek  to  eschew  the  idea  of  living  exclusively  for 
self — narrowing  down  the  sphere  of  our  earthly  existence  to  so 
ignoble  a  purpose ;  rather  ought  we  to  embellish  it  with  the 
outgushings  of  a  generous  good-will  to  those  who  are  less  en¬ 
dowed  than  ourselves. 

If  the  Divine  maxim  be  admitted,  we  enrich  ourselves  most 
when  most  generous  in  our  benefactions  to  others.  IIow  glori¬ 
ous  a  thing  it  is — the  consciousness  of  doing  good !  What  a 
galaxy  of  the  great  and  good,  who  have  scattered  sunshine  over 
the  dark  places  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  illumine  the  scroll  of 
our  human  history  in  all  ages  of  the  world, — worthy  of  all  imi¬ 
tation  ! 

*  Saturday  Review. 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 

“  The  shadow  on  the  dial’s  face,  that  steals,  from  day  to  day, 

With  slow,  unseen,  unceasing  pace,  moments,  and  months,  and  years  away ; 

This  shadow,  which,  in  every  clime, 

Since  light  and  motion  first  began, 

Hath  held  its  course  sublime.” 

Time  is  so  intangible  a  thing,  that  the  moment  we  essay  to 
grasp  it,  it  is  gone.  Although  impalpable  it  is  yet  real,  for, 
like  the  circumambient  atmosphere,  it  is  ever  present  with  us, 
although  unseen.  If  we  attempt  to  symbolize  it,  we  fail  fully 
to  portray  it,  and  yet  images  are  its  only  mode  of  illustration. 
It  is  both  the  longest  and  the  shortest,  the  swiftest  and  the 


/ 


344  THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 

slowest;  the  most  regretted  and  the  least  valued;  without 
which  nothing  can  be  done ;  that  which  devours  everything, 
and  yet  gives  existence  to  everything. 

“  It  is  the  account  current  with  all,  in  which  more  are  found 
bankrupt  than  wealthy,  when  the  balance-sheet  is  demanded. 
It  marks  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun,  spreads  over  us  the 
black  veil  of  night,  and  gilds  with  gladness  the  face  of  day ;  it 
rolls  on  the  revolving  seasons,  chronicling  the  deeds  of  cen¬ 
turies  ;  watching  over  the  birth  of  infancy,  the  ardent  aspira¬ 
tions  of  youth,  toiling  manhood,  and  the  tottering  steps  of  the 
infirm  and  aged — his  sorrows,  loves,  and  cares,  nor  forsakes 
him  so  long  as  life  shall  last.”  *  It  is  always  the  friend  of  the 
virtuous  and  the  true,  a  tormenting  foe  to  those  who  abuse 
the  gift ;  to  the  former,  it  is  redolent  of  fragrant  and  pleasant 
memories, — to  the  latter,  of  gloomy  remorse  and  despair. 

“  It  rolls  away,  and  bears  along 
A  mingled  mass  of  right  and  wrong ; 

The  flowers  of  love  that  bloomed  beside 
The  margin  of  life’s  sunny  tide  ; 

The  poisoned  weeds  of  passion,  tom 
From  dripping  rocks,  and  headlong  borne 
Into  that  unhorizoned  sea — 

Which  mortals  call  eternity  !  ” 

And  such  is  that  mysterious  myth,  named  Time,  who  meas¬ 
ures  our  allotted  span,  from  the  cradle  to  the  coffin,  mingles 
our  joys  and  griefs  in  the  chalice  of  life,  and  then  terminates 
it  with  his  scythe, — 

“  A  shadow  only  to  the  eye, 

It  levels  all  beneath  the  sky.” 

Time  itself  is  but  a  shadow ;  it  is  what  is  done  in  time  that 
is  the  substance.  What  are  twenty-four  centuries  to  the  hard 
rock,  more  than  twenty-four  hours  to  man,  or  twenty-four  min- 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


345 


utes  to  the  ephemera?  “Are  there  not  periods  in  our  own  exist¬ 
ence,”  writes  an  ingenious  thinker,  “  in  which  space,  computed 
by  its  measure  of  thoughts,  feelings,  and  events,  mocks  the 
penury  of  man’s  artificial  scale  and  comprises  a  lifetime  in  a 
day” 

“  I  asked  an  aged  man,  a  man  of  cares, 

Wrinkled  and  curved,  and  white  with  hoary  hairs : 

‘  Time  is  the  warp  of  life,’  he  said,  ‘  Oh  tell 
The  young,  the  fair,  the  gay,  to  weave  it  well  ” 

I  asked  the  ancient,  venerable  dead — 

Sages  who  wrote,  and  warriors  who  bled  : 

From  the  cold  grave  a  hollow  murmur  flowed — 

‘  Time  sowed  the  seed  we  reap  in  this  abode.’ 

I  asked  a  dying  sinner,  ere  the  tide 

Of  life  had  left  his  veins :  ‘  Time,’  he  replied, 

‘  I’ve  lost  it — ah,  the  treasure  !  ’  and  he  died. 

I  asked  the  golden  sun  and  silver  spheres, 

Those  bright  chronometers  of  days  and  years ; 

They  answered — ‘  Time  is  but  a  meteor’s  glare,’ 

And  bade  me  for  eternity  prepare. 

I  asked  the  seasons,  in  their  annual  round, 

Which  beautify  or  des«late  the  ground  : 

And  they  replied  (no  oracle  more  wise) : 

’Tis  Folly’s  blank,  and  Wisdom’s  highest  prize.’  ”  * 

Shakespeare  thus  inimitably  portrays  “  old  father  Time,”  and 
his  various  progressive  journeys  with  us  : 

“Time  travels  in  divers  paces,  with  divers  persons;  I’ll  tell 
you  who  Time  ambles  withal,  who  Time  trots  withal,  who 
Time  gallops  withal,  and  who  he  stands  still  withal.  He  trots 
hard  with  a  young  maid,  between  the  contract  of  her  marriage, 
•and  the  day  it  is  solemnized ;  if  the  interim  be  but  a  se’nnight, 
Time’s  pace  is  so  hard,  that  it  seems  the  length  of  seven  years. 
He  ambles  with  a  priest  that  lacks  Latin,  and  a  rich  man  that 
hath  not  the  gout — for  the  one  sleeps  easily,  because  he  cannot 


*  Marsden. 


34G 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


study  ;  and  the  other  lives  merrily,  because  he  feels  no  pain ; 
the  one  lacking  the  burden  of  lean  and  wasteful  learning — the 
other  knowing  no  burden  of  heavy,  tedious  penury  ;  then  Time 
ambles  withal.  He  gallops  with  a  thief  to  the  gallows — for, 
though  he  go  softly  as  foot  can  fall,  he  thinks  himself  too  soon  . 
there.  ITe  stays  still  with  lawyers  in  the  vacation — for  they 
sleep  between  term  and  term,  and  then  they  perceive  not  how 
Time  moves.” 

Time  is  portrayed  with  wings  to  indicate  his  rapid  flight,  and 
if  he  strew  our  pathway  with  life’s  spring  flowers,  he  also 
brings,  too  swiftly,  its  wintry  frosts  and  desolation.  lie  is  also 
represented  with  a  scythe,  to  notify  that  he  mows  down  all  alike 
— the  young  and  the  old,  the  refined  and  the  vulgar,  the  good 
and  the  bad.  , 

“  Even  such  is  Time  that  takes  on  trust, 

Our  youth,  our  joys,  our  all  we  have, 

And  pays  us  but  with  age  and  dust; 

Who,  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave, 

When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 

Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days.”  * 

The  earliest  expedient  for  reckoning  time  seems  to  have 
been  the  sundial.  Allusion  to  its  use  is  to  be  found  in  Holy 
Writ. 

Herodotus  informs  us  that  the  Greeks  borrowed  the  inven¬ 
tion  from  the  Babylonians.  The  sundial  was  first  used  at  Borne, 
about  300  b.g.  Prior  to  that  time  there  was  no  division  of 
the  day  into  hours,  but  only  sun-rising  and  sun-setting,  before 
and  after  mid-day. 

The  Jdepsydra,  or  water-clock,  was  introduced  at  Borne,  157 
b.c.  It  served  its  purpose  in  all  weathers,  while  the  dial,  of 
course,  depended  upon  the  sun. 

There  is  a  dial  in  the  Temple  Gardens,  London,  upon  which 


*  Raleigh. 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


347 


is  inscribed  the  admonitory  line  for  loiterers,  “  Begone  about 
your  business.” 

One  of  the  oldest  clocks  in  England  is  in  the  Palace  of 

« 

Hampton  Court.  It  still  works  well,  and  wears  well,  like  old 
father  Time  himself.  ’ 

One  of  the  best  clocks  now  in  London  is  that  of  the  Boyal 
Exchange.  That  placed  in  the  Clock  Tower  of  the  Aew 
Houses  of  Parliament  is  an  eight-day  one,  and  strikes  the  hour 
on  a  bell  weighing  nearly  ten  tons ;  it  chimes  the  quarter  upon 
eight  bells,  and  shows  the  time  upon  four  dials,  about  thirty 
feet  in  diameter.  The  length  of  the  minute-hand  of  the  clock 
of  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral  is  8  feet,  and  its  weight  75  lbs. ;  the 
length  of  the  hour-hand  is  5  feet  5  inches,  and  its  weight  44  lbs. 
The  diameter  of  the  dial  is  18  feet.  The  diameter  of  the  bell 
is  ten  feet,  and  its  weight  four  tons  and  a  quarter.  It  is  never 
used  except  for  the  striking  of  the  hour,  and  for  tolling  at  the 
deaths  and  funerals  of  any  of  the  Boyal  family,  the  Bishops  of 
London,  the  Deans  of  St.  Paul’s,  and  the  Lord  Mayor,  should 
he  die  during  mayoralty. 

The  astronomical  clock  at  Strasburg  is  composed  of  three 
parts,  respectively  dedicated  to  the  measure  of  time,  to  the 
calendar,  and  to  astronomical  movements.  The  first  thing  to 
be  created  was  a  central  moving  power,  communicating  its 
motion  to  the  whole  of  its  mechanism.  The  motive  power, 
which  is  itself  a  very  perfect  and  exact  timepiece,  indicates  on 
an  outer  face  the  hours  and  their  subdivisions,  as  well  as  the 
days  of  the  week ;  it  strikes  the  hours  and  the  quarters,  and 
puts  in  motion  divers  allegorical  figures. 

Watches  were  first  introduced  at  the  close  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  Watchmaking  has  been  carried  to  great  perfection 
by  the  Swiss,  French,  and  English.  Some  minute  watches 
have  been  constructed  of  less  than  half  an  inch  diameter. 

A  watch  has  been  facetiously  designated  as  the  image  of 


348 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


modesty,  since  it  always  holds  its  hands  before  its  face,  and 
however  good  its  works  may  be,  it  is  always  running  itself 
down 

A  word  respecting  Almanacs.  Some  suppose  the  term  to  be 
Arabic,  others  give  it  a  Teutonic  origin,  from  the  words  al  and 
moan ,  the  moon.  Others  again  assign  it  a  Saxon  derivation. 

In  1472  the  earliest  European  almanac  was  issued  from  the 
press  ;  and,  before  the  end  of  that  century,  they  became  com¬ 
mon  on  the  Continent.  In  England  they  were  not  in  general 
use  until  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

The  almanac,  in  its  simple  form  as  a  calendar,  agrees  in 
many  respects  to  the  fasti  or  festival-roll  of  the  Homans.  The 
word  calendar  comes  from  the  Latin  verb  calare ,  to  call,  or 
calens ,  its  participle,  on  account  of  the  custom  of  the  pontiffs 
summoning  the  people  to  apprise  them  of  the  festivals  occur¬ 
ring  in  each  respective  month  ;  these  occasions  are  designated 
dies  calendce — the  calends  or  first  days  of  the  month.  Such 
was  the  beginning  of  our  almanac.  The  fasti  seems  to  be  an 
extension  of  the  primitive  religious  calendar,  and  to  the  pagan 
feast-days  added  the  days  on  which  the  magistrates  were 
elected  and  held  court.  This  was  its  first  civil  form. 

The  calendar  of  the  almanac  now  in  use  is  an  improvement 
on  that  of  Romulus.  lie  divided  the  year  into  ten  months, 
beginning  with  March.  His  year  consisted  of  304  days. 
Is  uma  improved  on  Romulus,  and  added  two  months,  January 
to  the  beginning,  and  February  to  the  end  of  the  year.  In  452 
b.c.,  the  Decemvirs  placed  February  after  January,  and  fixed 
the  order  of  the  months.  The  year  at  this  time  consisted  of 
365 J  days.  According  to  the  imperfect  mode  of  reckoning  by 
the  Romans,  after  the  addition  of  the  months  of  January  and 
February,  b.c.  452,  the  twenty-fourth  of  February  was  called 
the  sixth  before  the  calends  of  March,  sexto  calendas.  In  the 
intercalary  year  this  day  was  repeated  and  styled  Ms  sexto  cal - 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


349 


endas — whence  we  derive  the  term  bissextile.  The  correspond¬ 
ing  term  leap-year  is,  however,  infelicitonsly  applied,  inasmuch 
as  it  seems  to  intimate  that  a  day  was  leaped  over,  instead  of 
being  thrust  in,  which  is  the  fact.  It  may  he  remarked  that 
in  the  ecclesiastical  calendar,  the  intercalary  day  is  still  in¬ 
serted  between  the  twenty-fourth  and  twenty-fifth  of  February. 
Bissextile,  or  leap-year,  therefore  contains  three  hundred  and 
sixty-six  days,  and  occurs  every  fourth  year.  Leap-year  is,  ac¬ 
cording  to  traditionary  lore,  invested  with  sundry  privileges 
and  immunities  to  the  fair.  The  Comic  Almanac  says,  “  it  takes 
three  springs  to  make  one  leap-year T 

Sosigenies,  the  astronomer,  induced  Caesar  to  abolish  the 
lunar  year,  and  regulate  time  by  the  sun.  Gregory  the  Thir¬ 
teenth,  in  1582,  corrected  the  calendar,  and  placed  it  on  its 
present  basis.  The  Gregorian  calendar  was  received  at  once 
by  all  the  Homan  Catholic  States  of  Europe.  The  Protestant 
powers  refused,  for  some  time,  to  adopt  it.  England  did  not 
receive  it  till  1752.  In  that  year,  the  Julian  calendar,  or  old 
style ,  was  abolished,  and  the  Gregorian,  or  new  style ,  adopted. 
This  was  done  by  dropping  eleven  days,  the  excess  of  the  Julian 
over  the  true  solar  time.  Bussia  still  adheres  to  the  old. 

A  prominent  feature  of  the  earlier  almanacs  was  the  prog¬ 
nostications  respecting  the  weather,  calculated  from  the  various 
phases  of  the  moon.  The  divisions  of  time  into  periods  of 
seven  days  have  been  made  in  all  ages,  and  are  as  old  as  the 
creation.  The  Chinese,  the  Egyptians,  the  Arabs,  and  other 
Oriental  nations,  as  well  as  the  Jews,  counted  in  this  way. 

The  word  “  week  ”  is  taken  from  the  Saxon  language  and 
means  seven  days,  the  same  as  in  ours.  Some  people  suppose 
that  the  number  seven  was  chosen  because  the  ancients  knew 
of  only  seven  planets,  and  because  they  believed  the  planets 
had  a  great  deal  of  influence  over  human  affairs,  they  named 


350 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


one  day  in  honor  of  each,  and  so  obtained  the  names  of  the 
days  and  their  division  at  the  same  time. 

We  have  kept  a  part  of  these  names  and  changed  the  others 
for  words  taken  from  the  Saxon  deities.  The  days  of  Mars, 
Jupiter,  Mercury,  and  Venus  have  been  called  Tuesday,  Wed¬ 
nesday,  Thursday,  and  Friday,  from  Tuesco,  Woden,  Thor,  and 
Friga,  the  Mars,  Jupiter,  and  Venus  of  the  Saxons. 

The  day  on  ^hich  the  week  begins  is  not  always  the  same. 
Among  the  Jews  the  Sabbath  was  made  to  fall  on  the  seventh 
day.  Among  Christians  the  first  day  was  set  apart  as  a  Sab¬ 
bath. 

The  changes  of  the  moon  evidently  caused  the  next  division 
of  time  into  months.  A  year  is  the  period  in  which  the  sun 
makes  his  circuit  of  the  heavens. 

There  has  been  a  good  deal  of  confusion  from  the  attempt  to 
make  the  periods  of  time  correspond  precisely  with  the  revolu 
tions  of  the  heavenly  bodies. 

The  moon  makes  more  than  twelve  revolutions  in  a  year,  and 
the  year  itself  is  a  little  more  than  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  days ;  so  while  it  would  make  no  difference  for  short 
periods,  yet  in  centuries  these  fractions  would  amount  to  quite 
a  sum. 

From  time  to  time  the  year  has  been  pushed  forward,  so  to 
speak,  by  adding  enough  days  to  make  up  deficiencies.  The 
names  of  the  months  have  come  to  us  from  the  Homans. 
With  them  March  was  the  first  month  (and  for  a  while  they 
had  only  ten)  and  December  the  tenth,  November  the  ninth, 
October  the  eighth.  They  soon  found  that  ten  months  made  a 
short  year,  and  so  added  two — January  and  February — from 
the  names  of  two  of  their  gods.  The  fifth  and  sixth  were 
afterward  changed  to  July  and  August,  in  honor  of  two  em¬ 
perors. 

An  exact  computation  of  time  is  very  important,  and  learned 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


351 


men  have  always  endeavored  to  avoid  mistakes.  Corrections 
have  been  made  from  time  to  time,  until  a  system  almost  per¬ 
fect  has  been  established. 

Among  the  ancient  nations  the  day  began  at  sunrise  and  con¬ 
tinued  till  its  light  expired :  others  supposed  their  day  to  com¬ 
mence  at  sunset.  The  Arabians,  again,  make  theirs  to  begin  at 
noon,  with  all  navigators  and  astronomers  :  while  we,  in  com¬ 
mon  with  the  ancient  Egyptians,  and  most  of  the  modern  Eu¬ 
ropeans,  date  from  midnight,  which,  allowing  of  all  the  waking 
hours  of  day  to  come  together,  is  manifestly  the  most  conve¬ 
nient  and  rational.  The  ancients  were  accustomed  to  group 
together  the  various  clusters  of  stars  ;  these  groups,  which  they 
termed  constellations,  they  gave  the  names  of  celebrated  per¬ 
sonages  of  their  day,  and  others  they  named  after  such  birds, 
beasts,  or  insects  as  seemed  to  be  portrayed  in  the  space  de¬ 
scribed  by  these  stellar  objects.  The  divisions  of  the  heavens 
designated,  to  some  extent,  the  seasons  of  the  year,  and  hence 
the  origin  of  the  signs  of  the  zodiac. 

January  is  a  name  which  is  derived  from  Janus ,  who  was  in 
classic  mythology  the  tutelary  deity  that  presided  over  this 
gate  of  the  New  Year.  Janus  was  represented  with  tw^o  faces, 
looking  in  opposite  directions — to  the  past  and  the  future. 
The  temple  in  Rome,  erected  to  his  memory,  was  always  kept 
open  in  time  of  war.  It  was  closed  only  three  times  during 
the  lapse  of  seven  hundred  years.  It  was  closed  at  the  time  of 
the  birth  of  Christ,  for  then  the  whole  world  was  at  peace. 

“  He  cometh,  the  elder-bom  child  of  the  year, 

With  a  turbulent  voice,  and  a  visage  austere ; 

But  his  cold,  callous  hand,  and  his  boreal  breath, 

Prepare  for  new  life  the  low  relics  of  death ; 

A  changeling  in  temper,  but  ever  sublime, 

Is  this  moody,  mad  offspring  of  stern  winter-time.” 

New  Year’s  Day  has  been,  from  time  immemorial,  kept  as  a 


352 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


day  of  rejoicing.  By  the  Greeks  it  was  a  solemn  festival:  by 
the  Romans,  one  of  feasting  and  congratulation.  Throughout 
Christendom  it  is  kept  as  a  holiday.  Bells  are  rung  at  mid¬ 
night  to  celebrate  the  exit  of  the  old,  and  the  advent  of  the 
new  year. 

Despite  its  icy  breath  and  frigid  aspect,  rugged  winter  seems 
to  be  prophetic  of  a  joyous  new  existence,  as  those  who  have 
become  frosted  with  age  appear  for  the  time  to  have  acquired 
a  spirit  of  rejuvenescence.  It  forms  a  sort  of  resting-place  in 
the  progress  of  life’s  journey,  from  which  we  all  persuade  our¬ 
selves,  however  we  may  deprecate  the  past,  that  the  future  is 
gilded  with  Iris  hopes  of  happiness.  If  the  external  aspect  of 
nature  appear  cheerless  and  chilly,  the  scene  is  but  the  more 
heightened  by  the  contrast  of  the  sunny  smiles  and  generous 
hospitalities  of  the  happy  fireside  of  kindred  and  friends. 
There  is  something  picturesque  as  well  as  grateful  in  this  time- 
honored  custom  of  commemorating  the  nativity  of  the  year, 
by  acts  of  beneficence  and  votive  offerings  to  friendship. 

Friendly  interchange  of  visits,  congratulations  and  the  pre¬ 
sentation  of  gifts,  seem  to  have  been  in  vogue  in  every  age. 
The  ancient  Druids  were  accustomed  to  cut  the  sacred  mistle¬ 
toe,  with  a  golden  knife,  in  a  forest  dedicated  to  the  gods,  and 
to  distribute  its  branches  with  much  ceremony,  as  new-year's 
gifts  to  the  people. 

Of  the  special  holidays  and  festivals  of  this  month,  the  first 
in  order  is  that  of  Circumcision — a  festival  of  the  Romish 
Church,  and  adopted  also  by  the  Episcopacy  since  the  year 
1550.  The  next  festival  in  the  Calendar  is  that  styled  Epiph- 
any ,  or  Twelfth-day — indicating  the  manifestation  of  Christ 
to  the  Gentile  world,  which  event  is  ascribed  to  this  date. 
This  holiday  used  to  be  characterized  in  Saxon  times  by  the 
wassail-bowl — a  spiced  decoction,  deriving  its  name  from  wees - 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


353 


heel  (be  healthy),  the  toast  the  sturdy  old  Saxons  adopted  on 
the  occasion  of  their  libations. 

The  second,  and  briefest  of  the  family  of  months,  Febru¬ 
ary,  derives  its  name  from  Februo ,  to  purify ;  hence  Februa- 
rius ,  the  appellation  assigned  by  the  Homans  to  the  expiatory 
sacrifices  they  were  accustomed  to  offer  at  this  season.  Pisces , 
the  constellation  over  which  Neptune  was  supposed  to  preside, 
was  regarded  by  the  ancients  as  the  last  of  the  winter  signs, 
and  was  represented  under  the  figure  of  two  fishes;  but  at 
present  it  is  the  first  in  order  of  the  stellar  groups  of  the  zo¬ 
diac,  presiding  over  the  vernal  equinox. 

The  Saxon  name  for  this  month  was  sprout-kele ,  also  sal- 
monath ,  or  pancake  month,  from  their  custom  of  offering  cakes 
to  the  sun,  for  his  increasing  power. 

Midway  in  this  month  comes  the  festival  of  St.  Valentine. 
All  we  know  of  him  is  that  he  was  canonized  in  consequence 
of  his  having  suffered  martyrdom  in  the  third  century,  under 
the  Emperor  Claudius.  Some  have  conjectured  that  the  custom 
of  devoting  this  day  to  Cupid  is  traceable  to  the  ancient  Homans, 
whose  festivals,  called  Lupercalia,  were  celebrated  about  this 
time.  On  these  occasions,  amidst  a  variety  of  ceremonies,  the 
names  of  young  women  were  placed  in  a  box,  from  which  they 
were  drawn  by  a  band  of  devotees,  as  chance  determined. 

The  practical  joking  which  prevails  so  universally  on  the  day 
in  question,  the  love  of  fun  and  caricature  with  Cupid,  is  of 
comparatively  modern  date.  Formerly,  love-making  among 
our  sober  progenitors  wore  a  much  more  grave  and  demure  as¬ 
pect:  it  was  not  a  matter  to  be  trifled  with,  that  of  linking 
hearts  and  hands,  with  the  joint  fortunes  or  misfortunes  of  life. 


“  Oil  love  !  how  potent  is  thy  sway  ; 

Thou’rt  terrible,  indeed,  to  most  men  ! 
But  once  a  year  there  comes  a  day 

When  thou  tormentest  chiefly  postmen. 


23 


354 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


“  Oh  hard  indeed  the  lot  must  be 

Of  him  who  wears  thy  galling  fetters  ! 

But  e’en  more  miserable  he 

Who  must  go  round  with  all  thy  letters.” 

Without  pretending  to  estimate  the  obligations  of  many  of 
the  devotees  of  Hymen  to  this  worthy  saint’s  influence,  the  fes¬ 
tival,  occurring  half-way  in  this  most  inclement  and  unpopular 
month,  certainly  tends  to  beguile  many  of  its  objectionable  ac¬ 
companiments — snow,  sleet,  and  that  worst  of  all  kinds  of 
weather — a  penetrating  thaw,  against  which  even  a  suit  of  mail 
may  be  said  to  be  scarcely  impervious. 

Shrove  Tuesday  regulates  most  of  the  movable  feasts.  It  is 
the  next  after  the  first  new  moon  in  the  month  of  February, 
and  follows  the  first  Sunday  in  Lent.  Formerly,  the  people 
were  expected  to  prepare  themselves  for  Lent  by  confessing 
themselves ;  hence  the  word  shrove. 

Ash- Wednesday  is  the  first  day  of  Lent,  supposed  to  have 
been  so  called  from  a  custom  in  the  Church  of  sprinkling  ashes 
that  day  on  the  heads  of  the  penitents. 

March  is  so  called  from  Mars ,  the  pagan  god  of  war. 

The  Saxons  called  it  lenct  monath ,  or  length  month,  be¬ 
cause  the  days  then  begin  to  exceed  in  length  the  nights. 

Lenct,  now  called  Lent ,  means  spring. 

March  is  a  rude,  boisterous  month,  possessing  many  of  the 
characteristics  of  winter,  yet  it  gives  us  the  first  announcement 
and  foretaste  of  spring.  What  can  equal  the  delight  of  the 
heart  at  the  very  first  glimpse  of  spring — the  first  peeping  of 
buds  and  green  herbs  ?  It  is  like  a  new  life  infused  into  our 
bosoms.  A  spirit  of  tenderness — a  burst  of  freshness  and  lux¬ 
ury  of  feeling  possesses  us ;  and  though  fifty  springs  have 
broken  upon  us,  their  joy,  unlike  many  joys  of  time,  is  not  an 
atom  impaired. 

True  it  is  that  blustering,  rude  Boreas  causes  boisterous  ex* 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


355 


citement  about  this  time,  as  if  seeking  to  awaken  Nature  from 
her  long  sleep  of  winter ;  while  dusty  particles  scorn  all  local 
habitation,  performing  fantastic  gyrations  in  the  air,  to  the  se¬ 
rious  discomfiture  of  our  physical  organs,  especially  the  optical 
and  olfactory. 

The  dry  winds  of  lusty  March,  however  they  may  be  depre¬ 
cated  for  their  personal  incivilities,  are  nevertheless  useful  to 
the  purposes  of  agriculture.  Its  zodiacal  sign,  Aries ,  was  as¬ 
signed  to  this,  originally  the  first  month  of  the  year,  because 
♦the  ancients  considered  the  ram  as  the  father  of  the  fleecy  flock 
which  afforded  them  both  food  and  raiment. 

St,  David's  Day  is  celebrated  by  the  Welsh  as  commemora¬ 
tive  of  their  patron  saint :  it  occurs  on  the  first  of  the  month. 

We  now  come  to  the  festival  held  in  honor  of  the  tutelar 
saint  of  Ould  Ireland — Saint  Patrick — who,  according  to 
ancient  lore,  in  the  year  of  grace  433  landed  near  Wicklow, 
having,  it  is  said,  been  born  at  Kilpatrick,  Scotland.  His  glo¬ 
rious  memory  is  mnemonized  by  the  well-known  Shamrock. 
The  real  name  of  this  notable  apostle  of  the  Irish  was  Maen- 
wyn.  Pope  Celestine  gave  him  his  ecclesiastical  patronymic  of 
Patricus,  when  he  consecrated  him  as  bishop  to  Ireland  in 
a.d.  433.  Originally  there  was  a  dispute,  according  to  Lover, 
as  to  the  true  anniversary  of  this  renowned  saint,  some  suppos¬ 
ing  the  eighth  and  others  the  ninth  to  be  the  correct  date  :  the 
humorist,  however,  represents  a  priest  as  settling  the  difficulty 
as  follows: 

‘ 4  Says  lie,  4  Boys,  don’t  be  fighting  for  eight  or  for  nine ; 

Don’t  be  always  dividing — but  sometimes  combine. 

Combine  eight  with  nine,  and  seventeen  is  the  mark. 

So  let  that  be  his  birthday.’  ‘Amen,’  says  the  clerk. 

So  they  all  got  blind  drunk — which  completed  their  bliss, 

And  we  keep  up  the  practice  from  that  day  to  this.  ” 

Palm  Sunday  is  the  first  Sunday  before  Easter,  so 


35G 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


called  in  commemoration  of  Christ’s  entering  into  Jerusalem, 
eight  days  before  the  Passover.  The  Passover  of  the  Jews 
closely  agrees  with  the  time  when  the  sun  crosses  or  passes 
over  the  equator,  an  event  that  could  hardly  fail  to  be  cele¬ 
brated  with  rites  and  ceremonies  by  a  people  so  devoted  to  as¬ 
tronomy  as  the  Egyptians,  who  had  educated  Moses.  Pascha 
was  the  primitive  term,  the  English  name  passover  being  de¬ 
rived  from  God’s  passing  over  the  houses  of  the  Israelites  and 
sparing  their  first-born,  when  those  of  the  Egyptians  were  put 
to  death.  • 

The  first  of  April  was  by  the  Romans  consecrated  to  Venus, 
the  goddess  of  beauty,  as  the  earth  begins  at  this  time  to  be 
arrayed  in  her  beautiful  garments  and  bedeck  herself  with 
flowers. 

The  month  of  April  is  one  of  alternating  smiles  and  tears. 
By  some  writers  it  has  been  designated  the  sweetest  of  the 
aerial  sisters,  because  it  ushers  in  the  “  delicate-footed  May.” 


‘  ‘  Sighing,  storming,  singing,  smiling, 

With  her  many  moods  beguiling, 

April  walks  the  wakening  earth. 

Wheresoe’er  she  looks  and  lingers, 

Wheresoe’er  she  lays  her  fingers, 

Some  new  charm  starts  into  birth.”  * 

This  month,  it  will  be  recollected,  is  introduced  by  the  equi¬ 
vocal  practice  of  imposing  upon  our  credulity,  under  the  style 
and  title  of  April-fooling. 

Be  very  circumspect  on  this  day  of  attending  to  gratuitous 
advice,  given  in  the  street,  respecting  your  costume  or  personal 
appearance.  Do  not  heed  any  officious  person  who  may  insist 
upon  your  picking  up  anything  he  may  imagine  you  to  have 
dropped. 


*  J.  C.  Prince. 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


357 


About  the  middle  of  April  the  sun  enters  Taurus — a  con¬ 
stellation  which  includes  one  hundred  and  forty-one  stars,  the 
principal  of  which  is  Aldebaran,  of  the  first  magnitude ;  it  also 
comprises  two  remarkable  representations,  viz. :  the  Pleiades 
ai)d  the  ITyades.  Alcyone,  the  principal  star  in  the  Pleiades, 
is  supposed  by  Prof.  Madler  to  be  the  grand  central  sun  in  the 
universe. 

Good  Friday ,  designed  to  commemorate  the  crucifixion,  is 
religiously  regarded  as  a  solemn  festival.  At  St.  Peter’s,  at 
Pome,  it  is  kept  up  in  the  service  of  the  Tenebraz — a  cere¬ 
monial  representing  the  entombment  of  the  Saviour.  Cross¬ 
buns  used  on  this  day  are  in  imitation  of  the  ecclesiastical 
eulogia ,  or  consecrated  loaves,  formerly  bestowed  in  the  church 
as  alms,  or  given  to  those  who,  from  any  impediment,  could 
not  receive  the  host.  It  will  be  remembered  that  popular 
superstition  has  marked  this  day  of  the  week  (Friday)  as  “  un¬ 
lucky.” 

If  Friday  was  ever  ill-omened,  its  reputation  is  sufficiently 
redeemed,  for  it  was  on  that  day  that  Columbus  discovered  the 
Pew  World,  that  George  Washington  was  born,  and  that  the 
Pilgrim  fathers  reached  the  Plymouth  rock. 

‘ 1  The  flowery  May,  who  from  her  green  lap  throws 
The  yellow  cowslip  and  the  pale  primrose.” 

Thus  sung  the  “  blind  old  bard,”  and  a  right  fruitful  theme 
has  this  u  queen  month  ”  of  the  calendar  been  to  the  many  wor¬ 
shippers  of  the  muse,  from  the  days  of  old  Chaucer  down  to 
our  own. 

May  seems  to  be  the  bridal  season  of  heaven  and  earth,  and 
the  whole  month  the  honeymoon. 

“  Buds  are  filling,  leaves  are  swelling,  flowers  on  field,  and  bloom  on  tree  : 

O’er  the  earth,  and  air,  and  ocean,  Nature  holds  her  jubilee.” 


358 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


Wordsworth  thus  daintily  pictures  forth  the  harbingers  of 
spring : 

“Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies, 

Let  them  live  upon  their  praises ; 

Long  as  there’s  a  sun  that  sets,  primroses  will  have  their  glory — 

Long  as  there  are  violets,  they  will  have  a  place  in  story.” 

The  rural  festivities  of  the  May-queen  are  no  longer  seen, 
hut  the  denizens  of  New  York,  for  the  special  benefit  of  the 
landlords,  have  substituted  a  custom  instead,  of  a  most  moving 
and  exciting  character ;  we  refer  to  their  curious  passion  for 
changing  their  habitations  on  that  day.  On  this  eventful  day, 
the  entire  community  is  in  a  transition  state.  Like  a  busy 
swarm  of  ants,  people  are  hurrying  to  and  fro,  hither  and 
thither,  in  the  most  amusing  confusion,  each  eagerly  in  quest 
of  his  new  abode.  This  singular  fancy  for  change  of  habita¬ 
tion  seems  peculiar  to  our  locomotive  people  of  New  York. 

The  zodiacal  sign  of  May  is  Gemini  (the  twins),  named 
Castor  and  Pollux,  who  are  fabled  to  have  appeared  to  sailors 
in  storms  with  lambent  fires  on  their  heads,  as  propitious  to 
the  mariner. 

May  is  synonymous  with  sunny  weather ;  the  state  of  the 
weather,  by  the  way,  is  an  ever-fruitful  theme  of  discourse 
with  all  sorts  of  people  at  all  sorts  of  times.  It  seems  ever 
uppermost  in  our  thoughts,  or  upon  the  tip  of  the  tongue. 

“  It  is  worthy  of  note  when  two  friends  meet  together 
The  first  topic  they  start  is  the  state  of  the  weather — 

It  is  always  the  same,  both  with  young  and  with  old  : 

’Tis  Either  too  hot,  or  else  ’tis  too  cold, 

’Tis  either  too  wet,  or  else  ’tis  too  dry. 

The  glass  is  too  low,  or  else  ’tis  too  high  ; 

But  if  all  had  their  wishes  once  jumbled  together, 

No  mortal  on  earth  could  exist  in  such  weather.” 


We  now  approach  the  rosy  month  of  June.  It  was  by  the 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


359 


Romans  called  Junius ,  in  honor  of  the  youth  who  served 
Regulus  in  the  war ;  or  it  was  more  probably  derived  from 
Juno,  the  goddess  of  heaven. 

The  Saxons  gave  it  the  name  of  weyd-monath ,  from  the 
German  weiden ,  to  pasture. 

This  is  the  season  for  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers — those 
gaudy  and  brilliant  gems  Nature  bedecks  herself  withal :  the 
very  air  is  perfumed  with  their  rich  odors,  and,  in  the  words  of 
Coleridge, — 

“  Many  a  hidden  brook,  in  this  leafy  month  of  June, 

To  the  sleeping  woods  all  night  singeth  a  quiet  tune.” 

Toward  the  close  of  the  month,  that  pleasant  rural  occupa¬ 
tion,  hay-making,  commences:  the  country  now  begins  to 
assume  a  most  beautiful  aspect — here  the  corn  is  already  begin¬ 
ning  to  peep  out,  here  the  meadows  are  mown  and  cleared, 
and  here  again  the  grass  still  waves  in  all  the  rich  luxuriance 
of  wild  flowers. 

We  have  now  completed  just  half  the  circuit  of  the  calen¬ 
dar,  and  it  is  high  noon  of  the  year ;  suppose  we  indulge  in  a 
brief  homily  upon  Time — by  way  of  tempering  our  trifling, 
and  in  order  to  save  our  sobriety  from  shipwreck.  TIow  im¬ 
portant  is  it  that  we  duly  value  the  passing  moment — all  we 
can  boast  of  Time  in  possession — yet  are  we  not  ever  prone 
rather  to  indulge  vain  regrets  for  the  past,  or  eager  anticipa¬ 
tions  for  the  future  ? 

“  The  past !  what  is  it  but  a  gleam  which  memory  faintly  throws  ? 

The  future  !  ’tis  the  fairy  dream  that  hope  and  fear  compose. 

The  present !  is  the  lightning  glance  that  comes  and  disappears  : 

Thus  life  is  but  a  moment’s  trance  of  memories,  hopes,  and  fears !  ” 

‘‘Spare  minutes  are  the  gold-dust  of  time,5’  says  a  quaint 
author ;  “  of  all  portions  of  our  life  they  are  the  most  to  be 


360 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


guarded  and  watched,  for  they  are  the  gaps  through  which 
idleness  tempts  ns  astray.”  An  impartial  review  of  the  past  is 
fraught  with  instruction  to  the  future : 

“  ’Tis  greatly  wise  to  talk  witli  our  past  hours, 

And  ask  them  what  report  they  bore  to  heaven.” 

Midsummer,  also,  naturally  reminds  us  of  the  meridian  of 
life — a  point  in  our  history  when  we  may,  with  advantage, 
take  a  retrospective,  as  well  as  a  prospective  survey ;  when  the 
premonitions  of  an  occasional  gray  hair,  or  wrinkle  on  the 
brow,  are  too  decisive  to  be  mistaken. 

“  The  more  we  live,  more  brief  appear 
Our  life’s  succeeding  stages : 

A  day  to  childhood  seems  a  year, 

And  years  like  passing  ages. 

Heaven  gives  our  years  of  fading  strength 
Indemnifying  fleetness ;  | 

And  those  of  youth  a  seeming  length , 

Proportioned  to  their  sweetness.”  * 

The  sultry  summer  month  of  July  is  now  come, — when  Sol 
is  in  the  ascendant,  and  in  his  glowing  ardor  to  entertain  his 
guests,  gives  to  all  creation  such  an  ardent  greeting.  Punctis 
humorous  apostrophe  is  too  good  to  be  omitted  in  this  place :  it 
runs  in  this  wise  : 

“  Well  done,  thou  glorious  orb  !  well  done,  indeed, 

Thou  sun ;  for  nature  now  is  one  great  feast, 

Roasted,  and  boiled,  and  fried,  and  baked,  by  thee. 

Thf-  fire  hath  boiled  the  fishes  in  the  streams ; 

Roasted  the  living  mutton  on  the  Downs  ; 

Fried  all  the  parsley  on  its  very  bed  ; 

And  baking  the  potatoes  under  ground, 

Hath  cooked  them  growing ;  so  that  men  may  dig 
’Taters  all  hot !  ” 


*  Campbell. 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


361 


This  month  is  distinguished  by  its  Dog-days.  That  every 
dog  has  his  day ,  is  an  admitted  axiom,  but  why  the  canine 
fraternity  at  large  should  thus  monopolize  this  particular  part 
of  the  calendar,  we  cannot  divine ;  and  as  we  prefer  not  to  dog¬ 
matize,  we  respectfully  refer  the  reader  to  an  old  authority, 
and  a  witty  dog  into  the  bargain — Dog-berry.  Whether  it  is 
that  they  expect  to  run  mad  with  impunity  during  this  term, 
to  the  terror  of  all  mayors  and  municipalities ;  or  whether  it  is 
because  all  the  rest  of  the  year  they  get  kicked  out  of  sight, 
that  this  brief  interval  is  secured  for  their  jubilee,  we  are  alike 
unable  to  determine ;  and  must,  therefore,  leave  the  learned  in 
such  matters  to  decide,  and  shall  be  content  to  con-cur  in  their 
decision. 

Tom  Hood  has  something  to  add  on  the  subject,  which  we 
subjoin : 

‘  ‘  Most  doggedly  I  do  maintain,  and  hold  the  dogma  true  — 

That  four-legged  dogs  although  we  see  we’ve  some  that  walk  on  two, 
Among  them  there  are  clever  dogs — a  few  you’d  reckon  mad, 

While  some  are  very  jolly  dogs  and  others  very  sad. 

Eve  heard  of  physic  thrown  to  dogs,  and  very  much  incline, 

To  think  it  true,  for  we’ve  a  pack  who  only  bark  and  w{h)ine.'''> 

The  zodiacal  sign  of  the  month  is  Sirius,  which  is  apparently 
one  of  the  largest  objects  in  the  sidereal  heavens. 

St.  Swithin's  Day  is  memorable  from  the  tradition  that,  if 
there  should  be  rain  on  that  day,  it  would  continue  for  forty 
days  afterward. 

The  ‘‘glorious  Fourth”  is  the  national  birthday' of  Freedom 
in  the  United  States,  when  the  Sovereign  people  indulge  in 
the  exercise  of  the  “  largest  liberty,”  and  by  way  of  canonizing 
the  goddess  disturb  the  quiet  air  wdth  incessant  booming  of 
guns,  firing  of  pistols,  and  rushing  of  rockets. 

The  golden  August  now  bursts  upon  us — that  gorgeous 


362 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


month,  most  rife  with  all  sorts  of  delicious  fruits  and  sheaves 
of  garnered  grain. 

This  month  is  introduced  by  Lammas-day — one  of  the  great 
thanksgiving  festivals  of  former  time :  and  it  closes  under  the 
saintly  patronage  of  Jerome.  Harvest- home,  the  rustic  jubilee 
of  rural  life,  also  belongs  to  this  glorious  month. 

August  was  called  Sextilis  by  the  Romans,  from  its  being 
the  sixth  month  in  their  calendar,  until  the  Senate  compli¬ 
mented  Augustus  by  naming  it  after  him,  because  he  had  then 
first  entered  upon  his  consulship,  having  subdued  Egypt  to 
the  Roman  dominion ! 

The  Saxons  called  this  month  arn-monath ,  more  rightly 
barn-monath,  indicating  the  filling  of  barns  with  corn. 

The  zodiacal  sign  of  the  month — that  of  Yirgo — the  Virgin. 

St.  Bartholomew’s  Day  occurs  on  the  24th  of  this  month  : 
and  it  possesses  a  sad  notoriety  for  its  connection  with  the  hor¬ 
rible  butchery  of  1572,  in  Paris. 

The  splendor  of  the  summer  months  now  gives  place  to  the 
sober  tints  of  russet  autumn. 

A  pastoral  writer  observes,  “Autumn,  yet  with  her  hand 
grasped  in  the  feeble  clasp  of  Summer,  as  if  the  latter  were 
loth  to  depart,  still  retains  much  green  hanging  about  the 
woods,  and  much  blue  and  sunshine  about  the  sky  and  earth. 
But  the  leaves  are  rustling  in  the  forest  paths,  the  harvest-fields 
are  silent,  and  the  heavy  fruit  that  bows  down  the  branches 
proclaims  that  the  labor  of  Summer  is  ended — that  her  yellow- 
robed  sister  has  come  to  gather  in  and  garner  the  rich  treasures 
she  has  left  behind.” 

Hope,  who  looked  with  a  cheerful  countenance  upon  the 
landscape  of  Spring,  has  departed.  Instead  of  watching  each 
green  and  flowery  object,  day  by  day,  as  it  budded  and  blos¬ 
somed,  we  now  see  only  the  traces  of  slow  and  sure  decay,  the 
green  fading,  bit  by  bit,  until  the  leaves  become  like  the  skele- 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


363 


ton  wings  of  an  insect,  the  wind  blowing  through  those  places 
which  were  before  marked  with  azure,  and  crimson,  and  gold. 
The  sun  himself  seems  growing  older;  he  rises  later  from  his 
bed  in  the  morning,  and  returns  to  rest  earlier  in  the  evening, 
and  seems  not  to  have  that  strength  which  he  possessed  when 
he  rose  in  the  youthful  vigor  of  Spring,  and  the  bright  and 
cheerful  manhood  of  Summer ;  for  his  golden  eyes  seem 
clouded,  and  his  breath  thick  and  heavy,  as  he  struggles 
through  the  surrounding  fog.  All  these  are  marks  of  the  sea¬ 
sons,  telling  us  that  the  year  is  growing  gray,  and  slowly  tot¬ 
tering  towards  the  darkness  and  grave-like  silence  of  Winter. 

Seasons — Punch  suggests  that  an  assertion  so  frequently 
made,  that  it  is  impossible  to  arrest  the  flight  of  Time,  is  alto¬ 
gether  erroneous,  for  who  is  there  that  cannot  stop  a  minute. 

“A  moral  character  is  attached  to  autumnal  scenes — the 
leaves  falling  like  our  years,  the  flowers  fading  like  our  hours, 
the  clouds  fleeting  like  our  illusions,  the  light  diminishing  like 
our  intelligence,  the  sun  growing  colder  like  our  affections,  the 
rivers  becoming  frozen  like  our  lives — all  bear  secret  relations 
to  our  destinies.”  * 

The  name  September,  being  derived  from  Septem ,  seven, 
indicates  its  order  in  the  Roman  Calendar,  prior  to  the  Julian 
reform.  The  zodiacal  sign  is  the  constellation  of  Libra ,  or  the 
Balance  /  because  when  the  sun  entered  this  asterism  it  seemed 
to  hold  the  days  and  nights  in  equilibrio,  giving  the  same  pro¬ 
portion  of  light  as  darkness  to  the  inhabitants  of  all  parts  of 
the  globe. 

The  transition  from  autumnal  richness  to  the  desolation  of 
winter  is  gradual,  almost  imperceptible,  like  our  own  advanc¬ 
ing  years.  Miller,  the  poet,  thus  writes  about  it : 

“  Forest  scenery  never  looks  so  beautiful  as  in  Autumn.  It 
is  then  that  Nature  seems  to  have  exhausted  all  the  fantastic 


*  Chateaubriand. 


364 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


colors  of  her  palette,  and  to  have  scattered  her  richest  red, 
brown,  yellow,  and  purple  upon  the  foliage.  Every  gust  of 
wind  that  now  blows  brings  down  thousands  of  golden-colored 
acorns,  that  come  pattering  like  little  feet  among  the  fallen 
leaves,  leaving  empty  their  smooth,  round,  hollow  cups,  from 
which  the  old  poets  in  their  fables  framed  the  drinking 
vessels  of  the  fairies.” 

October  is  from  the  Latin  octo ,  eight ;  wuth  the  'Saxons  it 
was  styled  winterfyllith — winter  beginning. 

The  principal  Saints’  days  of  this  month  are  those  of  St. 
Dennis — who,  according  to  the  legend,  walked  two  miles  with 
his  head  in  his  hand,  after  it  had  been  cut  off — and  of  St. 
Crispin,  the  patron  of  the  shoe-making  fraternity. 

One  of  the  Comic  Almanacs  attempts  the  facetious  on  this 
month,  in  the  following  playful  stanzas: 

“  The  sum  of  Summer  is  cast  at  last, 

And  carried  to  Wintry  season, 

And  the  frightened  leaves  are  leaving  us  fast, 

If  they  stayed  it  would  be  high  trees-on. 

The  sheep,  exposed  to  the  rain  and  drift, 

Are  left  to  all  sorts  of  wethers, 

And  the  ragged  young  birds  must  make  a  shift 
Until  they  can  get  new  feathers.” 

In  noting  the  chronicles  of  Time,  we  find  u  The  pale, 
descending  year,  yet  pleasing  still ;  ”  for  although  the  sere  and 
}Tellow  leaf  now  greets  us,  where  a  short  time  since  all  was 
verdant,  and  Nature  has  doffed  her  gay  attire,  yet  is  there 
great  beauty  even  in  the  blanched  and  frozen  landscape, 
which  dull  spirits  deem  all  dreary,  desolate,  and  dead. 

Shelley’s  exquisite  dirge  is  known  to  many  readers ;  it  may 
not  be  to  all ;  listen  : 

‘  ‘  The  warm  sun  is  failing,  the  bleak  wind  is  wailing, 

The  bare  boughs  are  sighing,  the  pale  flowers  are  dying, 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


365 


And  the  year 

On  the  earth,  her  death-bed,  in  a  shroud  of  leaves  dead, 

Is  lying, 

Come  months,  come  away,  from  November  to  May, 

In  your  saddest  array ; 

Follow  the  bier  of  the  dead,  cold  year, 

And  like  dim  shadows  watch  by  her  sepulchre.” 

November  is  the  next  month  we  reach ;  its  name  being  de¬ 
rived  from  novem — nine. 

All-Souls  Day  occurs  on  the  second  of  this  month — conse¬ 
crated  to  the  memory  of  those  saintly  personages  of  yore,  to 
the  invocation  of  whom  the  Church  had  not  assigned  any  par¬ 
ticular  date.  The  closing  day  of  November  is  St.  Andrew’s ; 
St.  Cecilia  has  also  conferred  a  ghostly  honor  on  this  month, 
as  well  as  upon  music. 

We  close  our  notice  of  this  notable  month  with  a  brief  but 
elegant  passage  from  the  pen  of  that  sunny  and  healthful 
writer,  Leigh  Hunt.  “  November,”  he  says,  “  with  its  loss  of 
verdure,  its  frequent  rains,  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  and  the  visible 
approach  of  winter,  is  undoubtedly  a  gloomy  month  to  the 
gloomy,  but  to  others  its  brings  but  pensiveness — a  feeling  very 
far  from  being  destitute  of  pleasure  ;  and  if  the  healthiest  and 
most  imaginative  of  us  may  feel  their  spirits  pulled  down  by 
reflections  connected  with  earth, — its  mortalities  and  its  mis¬ 
takes,  we  shall  but  strengthen  ourselves  the  more  to  make 
strong  and  sweet  music  with  the  changeful  but  harmonious 
movements  of  nature.” 

December,  from  Decern — ten.  The  Saxons  named  it  winter- 
monath. 

We  have  watched  the  progress  of  the  year,  from  its  birth  to 
its  death.  We  have  watched  the  procession  of  the  sister 
months,  and  in  their  course  the  successive  seasons — the  bright, 
brilliant,  and  evanescent  glories  of  the  joyous  spring,  the  gor- 


306 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


geous  sunsets  of  the  sultry  summer,  the  rich  exuberance  of 
fruit-bearing  autumn  ;  and  now  we  are  fairly  in  companionship 
with  the  frigid  winter,  with  its  brief  days  and  prolonged  nights. 
We  are  reminded  here  of  a  very  literal  reason  once  rendered, 
in  reply  to  the  inquiry,  as  to  the  cause  of  the  length  of  days  in 
summer,  and  their  brevity  in  winter ;  namely,  that  it  the  na¬ 
ture  of  heat  to  expand,  and  of  cold  to  contract. 

Punch  thus  refers  to  the  frozen  desolation  of  winter : 


There  is  a  stoppage  in  the  currency 
Of  all  the  streams,  which  cannot  liquidate 
Their  tribute  to  the  sea.  The  frozen  soil, 

Hard  up,  no  more  repays  the  husbandman. 

Each  object,  crusted  o’er  with  rime  and  snow — 
Seems  whitewashed.  Of  their  furniture  the  trees 
Are  stripped  ;  and  everywhere  distringas  reign. 

On  one  vast  picture  of  insolvency 
We  gaze  around  ;  and  did  we  not  repose 
In  Mother  Earth’s  resources  confidence 
Should  see  no  prospect  of  a  dividend 
Of  sixpence  in  the  pound  !  ” 


H  ox  ember  and  Dec  ember  are  called  the  embers  of  the  dvinor 
year. 

The  famous  festival  of  St.  Nicholas — “  the  boy-bishop,”  and 
the  tutelar  saint  of  childhood — is  celebrated  on  the  sixth. 
Dreary,  indeed,  would  this  ice-clad  month  he,  were  it  not  for 
the  glowing  associations  of  its  merry  Christmas,  with  its  holly 
and  mistletoe,  and  the  gladsome  gatherings  and  rejoicings  of 
social  life.  What  bright  visions  of  joyous  faces,  well-spread 
tables,  and  happy  li resides,  does  it  kindle  up  in  the  memory  ; 
and  with  what  glowing  and  grateful  contrast  does  the  dreary 
desolation  without  invest  the  radiant  and  jubilant  scenes  of  the 
domestic  hearth.  The  hearty  and  generous  hospitality  which 
characterizes  Christmas  celebrations — with  the  old,  orthodox 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


367 


accessories  of  that  delicious  conglomerate  of  all  good  things — 
plum-pudding,  and  its  accompaniment,  the  glorious  sirloin — 
are  enough  to  tempt  the  veriest  anchorite  to  participate  in 
Epicurean  delights ;  for  surely  the  palate  that  could  not  appre¬ 
ciate,  nay,  luxuriate  over  such  dainty  and  delectable  dishes, 
must  have  become  sadly  perverted  and  depraved. 

The  term  Christmas  is  derived  from  the  Latin  Church — it  is 
properly  Christi  Massa  (the  Mass  of  Christ). 

In  former  times,  the  celebration  of  Christmas  began  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  previous  day — Christmas  Eve.  The  house 
was  first  decked  with  holly,  ivy,  and  other  evergreens.  Candles 
of  an  uncommon  size  were  then  lighted  under  the  name  of  Christ¬ 
mas  candles ;  an  enormous  log,  called  the  Yule  log,  or  Christ¬ 
mas  block,  was  laid  upon  the  fire,  while  the  people  sat  round, 
regaling  themselves  with  beer.  In  the  course  of  the  night 
small  parties  went  about  from  house  to  house,  singing  what 
were  called  Christmas  Carols,  Commemorative  of  the  nativity 
of  our  Lord. 

Twelfth-day — the  anniversary  of  the  adoration  of  the  magi 
— occurs  on  the  twelfth  day  after  Christmas.  Many  curious 
customs  are  associated  with  its  celebration,  in  Great  Britain 
and  on  the  Continent.  Thus  we  find  in  the  Gentleman' s  Mag¬ 
azine  for  1759,  in  the  record  for  January :  “  Being  Twelfth- 
day,  his  majesty  went  to  the  Chapel  Boyal,  with  the  usual 
solemnity,  and  offered  gold,  myrrh,  and  frankincense,  in  three 
purses,  at  the  altar,  according  to  ancient  custom.” 

Time  is  the  universal  talent,  subjecting  every  man  living  to 
a  charge  and  an  account.  Within  its  circles  all  our  other 
talents  turn.  They  are  the  wheels  within  this  great  wheel, 
whose  united  movement  causes  it  to  revolve,  for,  as  they  are 
duly  exercised,  Time  is  successfully  employed.  It  is  the  entail 
of  humanity,  come  down  to  us  as  our  inalienable  heritage ; 
and,  as  in  the  law  of  primogeniture,  unencumbered  with  our 


368 


THE  CYCLE  OF  THE  SEASONS. 


father’s  debts.  May  we  prove  such  wise  occupants  and  inheri¬ 
tors  of  this  valuable  property,  that,  whatever  may  be  the 
passing  anxieties  of  its  tenure,  we  may  realize  its  profits  here- 
after ! 


“  ’Tis  not  for  man  to  trifle  !  Life  is  brief, 
And  sin  is  here. 


Our  age  is  but  tbe  falling  of  a  leaf, 

A  dropping  tear. 

We  have  no  time  to  sport  away  the  hours; 
All  must  be  earnest  in  a  world  like  ours. 


“  Not  many  lives,  but  only  one  have  we ; 

One,  only  one — 

How  sacred  should  that  one  life  ever  be — 
That  narrow  span  ! 

Day  after  day  filled  up  with  blessed  toil, 
Hour  after  hour  still  bringing  in  new  spoil.” 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 

“  Of  all  writers,  the  poet,”  wrote  Washington  Irving,  “  be¬ 
comes  the  most  fascinated  with  his  gentle  vocation.  Others 
may  write  from  the  head,  but  he  writes  from  the  heart,  and  the 
heart  will  always  understand  him.  His  writings  contain  the 
spirit,  the  aroma,  if  I  may  use  the  phrase,  of  the  age  in  which . 
he  lives.  They  are  caskets  which  enclose  within  a  small  com¬ 
pass  the  wealth  of  the  language — its  family  jewels,  which  are 
thus  transmitted  in  a  portable  form  to  posterity.”  “  There  is  a 
pleasure  in  poetic  pains,”  we  have  been  told  ;  and  not  seldom 
have  the  votaries  of  the  muse  had  to  learn  in  suffering  what 
they  teach  in  song;  yet  what  poet  has  not  strung  his  lyre  to 
the  honor  of  his  muse,  and  with  Chaucer  rather  have 

“  At  his  bedde’s  head 

A  twenty  bokes,  clothed  in  blacke  and  red, 

Of  Aristotle,  and  his  phylosophie, 

Than  robes  rich,  or  fiddle,  or  psalterie.” 


24 


370 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


The  pleasures  of  writing  are  among  the  chief  incentives  to 
authorship.  There  are  millions  of  men,  says  Byron,  who  have 
never  written  a  book,  but  few  who  have  written  only  one. 

“  Literature,”  says  a  modern  essayist,  “  has  its  solitary  pleas¬ 
ures,  and  they  are  many  ;  it  has  also  its  social  pleasures,  and 
they  are  more. 

In  the  olden  time,  when  life  went  on  its  way  less  swiftly, 
men  of  meditative  character  had  leisure  for  retirement  and 
study  ;  and  albeit  they  indulged  somewhat  in  verbose  prolixity, 
yet  they  did  the  world  some  service,  for  they  gathered  for  us 
many  a  sweet  flower  of  rhetoric  and  of  poesy,  the  sweets  of 
which  we  have  since  sought  to  distil,  although  the  blossoms 
have  faded  away. 

The  domestic  life  of  genius  has  afforded  many  touching  in¬ 
stances  of  happy  contentment  under  privation,  and  of  the 
heroic  pursuit  of  knowledge  under  difficulties ;  because  sus¬ 
tained  and  inspired  by  a  devotion  to  study. 

Who  would  not  like  to  have  seen  Richardson  reading  chap¬ 
ters  of  his  novels  to  his  listening  friends,  in  his  favorite  grotto  ; 
or  Sterne,  by  his  own  fireside  with  his  daughter  copying,  and  his 
wife  knitting  ;  or  Scott,  with  his  favorite  dogs,  amid  the  antique 
armorial  insignia  of  his  sanctum,  at  Abbotsford ;  or  Dickens,  in 
his,  at  Gadshill,  surrounded  with  the  multitudinous  creations  of 
his  fertile  fancy  ?  Then  think  of  Milton,  in  his  blindness,  in¬ 
diting  those  majestic  measures  concerning  a  Paradise  Lost  and 
Regained.  Humble  yet  stately  as  to  his  worldly  aspect,  but  how 
imperial  as  to  his  mental ;  and  how  good  as  well  as  great !  Like 
Shakespeare,  Burke  and  Goldsmith,  in  their  respective  depart¬ 
ments,  what  have  they  not  achieved  and  what  does  not  the  world 
owe  to  their  genius  \ 

Scott  and  Goethe  alike  confessed  their  obligations  to  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield  /  and  it  has  been  welcomed,  like  the  Pil¬ 
grim's  Progress ,  with  smiles  and  tears  by  myriads  of  readers. 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


371 


It  has  been  well  said,  therefore,  that  “  Books  are  not  seldom 
talismans  and  spells.”  With  most  of  the  poets,  Homer, 
Spenser,  and  Shakespeare  have  been  ever  favorite  books. 
Alexander  the  Great  is  said  to  have  slept  with  a  copy  of 
Homer  under  his  pillow.  Plutarch’s  Lives  was  one  of 
Franklin’s  favorite  works,  as  his  own  practical  maxims  have 
been  of  many  in  later  times. 

Cobbett’s  earliest  choice  of  a  book  was  Swift’s  Tale  of  a 
Tub  ;  and  strangely  enough  it  seems  to  have  had  a  quicken¬ 
ing  influence  upon  his  mind.  He  seems  to  have  been  delighted 
with  it,  carrying  it  about  with  him  wherever  he  went.  Three 
of  Byron’s  favorite  books  were,  Burton’s  Anatomy  of  Melan¬ 
choly,  D’Israeli’s  Literary  Character ,  and  Scott’s  Novels. 
Who  does  not  remember  that  fairy  book,  the  Arabian  Nights , 
and  the  exploits  of  Don  Quixote  f 

In  spite  of  all  mutations,  the  cadences  of  the  true  muse  must 
live  still  in  the  sweet  echoes  that  reverberate  through  the 
caverns  of  human  thought.  The  poet’s  forms  of  speech  are 
deathless,  for  in  him 

“  Language  was  a  perpetual  Orphic  song, 

Which  ruled,  with  Daedal  harmonie,  a  throng 
Of  thoughts  and  forms.” 

Let  us  now  note  some  of  the  curious  modes  in  which  writers 
have  indulged  their  quaint  conceits  and  felicitous  thoughts. 

About  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the  scribes,  or 
rather  those  whose  ambition  was  not  of  the  most  soaring  order, 
used  to  divert  themselves  and  rack  their  inventive  powers  by 
torturing  and  twisting  their  verses  into  odd  devices  and  shapes, 
expressive  of  the  themes  they  discussed — as  might  be  expected, 
to  the  serious  detriment  of  their  poetic  merit.  Many  of  these 
fantastic  performances  were  of  grotesque  or  even  ludicrous  de¬ 
scription. 


372 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


It  was  the  literary  humor  of  a  certain  Maecenas,  when  he  en¬ 
tertained  his  scribes,  to  place  at  the  head  of  the  table  those  who 
had  published  huge  folios,  next  to  them  authors  in  quarto,  and 
below  them  the  octavos  and  duodecimos.  As  specimens  of  in¬ 
genious  trilling,  we  might  mention  the  minute  document  pre¬ 
sented  to  Queen  Elizabeth.  It  comprised  the  Decalogue,  Creed, 
and  Lord’s  Prayer,  all  beautifully  written  in  the  compass  of  a 
finger-nail.  Yet  the  early  scribes  found  it  much  easier  to  write 
up  to  a  folio  than  down  to  a  duodecimo ;  for  the  condensing 
process  was  an  art  with  which  they  were  wholly  unacquainted. 

The  fancy  for  alliteration  is  far  from  being  a  novelty  ;  it 
prevailed  among  the  Elizabethan  poets,  and  the  yet  earlier 
ballads  and  nursery  ditties,  which,  although  they  still  remain 
with  us,  date  back  as  far  as  the  renowned  u  Peter  Piper,”  who 
is  said  to  have  “picked  a  peck  of  pickled  peppers,”  and  that 
other  worthy,  “  Theophilus  Thistlethwaite,”  who  thoughtlessly 
“  thrust  three  thousand  thistles  through  the  thick  of  his  thumb !  ” 
Many,  indeed,  of  our  poets  occasionally  indulged  in  this  allit¬ 
erative  fancy;  for  example,  Southey,  in  his  Molls  of  Lodore, 
and  Edgar  Poe,  in  his  rhythmical  Bells.  One  of  the  most 
ingenious,  if  not  the  most  ingenious,  of  alliterative  poems  in  our 
language,  is  the  following,  the  authorship  of  which  is,  we  be¬ 
lieve,  unknown.  It  is  entitled  the  “  Siege  of  Belgrade.” 

“  An  Austrian  army,  awfully  arrayed, 

Boldly,  by  battery,  besieged  Belgrade ; 

Cossack  commanders  cannonading  come, 

Dealing  destruction’s  devastating  doom ; 

Every  endeavor  engineers  essay, 

For  fame,  for  fortune  fighting — furious  fray  ! 

Generals  ’gainst  generals  grapple — gracious  God  ! 

How  honors  Heav’n  heroic  hardihood  ! 

Infuriate,  indiscriminate,  in  ill, 

Kinsmen  kill  kindred,  kindred  kinsmen  kill ! 

Labor  low  levels  longest,  loftiest  lines ; 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


373 


Men  march  ’mid  mounds,  ’mid  moles,  ’mid  murd’rous  mines;  * 
Now  noisy,  noxious  numbers  notice  naught 
Of  outward  obstacles  opposing  ought ; 

Poor  patriots  !  partly  purchas’d,  partly  press’d, 

Quite  quaking,  quickly  ‘  quarter,  quarter’  quest. 

Keason  returns,  religious  right  redounds, 

Suwarrow  stops  such  sanguinary  sounds  ; 

Truce  to  thee  Turkey  !  triumph  to  thy  train  ! 

Unjust,  unwise,  unmerciful  Ukraine  ! 

Vanish  vain  victory  ! — vanish  victory  vain  ! 

Why  wish  we  warfare  ?  wherefore  welcome  were 
Xerxes,  Ximenas,  Xanthus,  Xavier, 

Yield,  yield,  ye  youths  !  ye  yeomen  yield  your  yell ! 

Zeno’s,  Zarpater’s,  Zoroaster’s  zeal ; 

Attracting  all,  arms  against  acts  appeal.” 

As  affording  an  illustration  of  the  union  of  sound  and  sense, 
we  select  from  many  other  examples  the  following  well-known 
lines  of  Pope : 

“  When  Ajax  strives  some  rock’s  vast  weight  to  throw, 

The  words,  too,  labor,  and  the  line  moves  slow  : 

Not  so  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, — 

Flies  o’er  the  imbending  com,  and  skims  along  the  main.” 

Even  the  grave  Dr.  Johnson  could  relax  occasionally  from 
his  severer  studies,  as  the  following  lines  attest : 

‘  ‘  If  the  man  who  turnips  cries 
Cry  not  when  his  father  dies, 

’Tis  a  proof  that  he  had  rather 
Have  a  turnip  than  his  father  !  ” 

As  an  ingenious  play  upon  words  and  sounds,  rather  than 
a  collection  of  “  wise  saws,”  we  cite  the  chorus  to  a  popular 
London  street  song : 

“  I  saw  Esau  kissing  Kate, 

And  the  fact  is,  we  all  three  saw ; 

For  I  saw  Esau,  he  saw  me, 

And  she  saw — I  saw  Esau  !  ” 


374 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


4  We  offer  another  example  of  the  use  of  a  word  in  a  variety 
of  senses  and  witty  combinations  : 

“  He  took  her  fancy  when  he  came, 

He  took  her  hand,  he  took  a  kiss, 

He  took  no  notice  of  the  shame 

That  glowed  her  happy  face  at  this  ; 

He  took  to  coming  afternoons, 

He  took  an  oath  he’d  ne’er  deceive, 

He  took  her  master’s  silver  spoons  ! 

And  after  that — he  took  his  leave.” 

The  following  is  from  one  of  Quarles ’  Emblems  : 

“We  sack,  we  ransack  to  the  utmost  sands, 

Of  native  kingdoms,  and  of  foreign  lands  ; 

We  travel  sea  and  soil,  we  pry,  we  prowl, 

We  progress  and  we  prog,  from  pole  to  pole.” 

Some  writer,  referring  to  this  old  scribe,  observes  that  “  he  is 
neither  prolix,  prosy,  or  pragmatic,  though  often  queer,  quaint, 
and  querulous.”  So  it  seems  he  minds  hiss’s  if  not  his  q's. 

The  celebrated  cacophonous  couplet,  on  Cardinal  Wolsey,  is 
ingenious,  each  word,  in  each  line,  beginning  and  continuing 
with  the  same  letter : 

“  Begot  by  butchers,  but  by  bishops  bred, 

How  high  his  Honor  holds  his  haughty  head  !  ” 

Ingenious  literary  trifling,  it  may  be  called ;  but  we  must 
remember  that  much  of  it  owes  its  origin  to  monkish  seclusion, 
or  the  quiet  of  the  scholar’s  hermitage ;  we  may  well  excuse  an 
occasional  indulgence  in  such  trivialities.  Monastic  life  must 
have  been  a  monotonous  one  at  the  best,  and  needed  something 
to  beguile  it  of  its  tedium. 

O 

Here  is  an  example  of  what  has  been  called  Concatenation,  or 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEK. 


375 


chain  verses,  in  which  the  last  phrase  of  every  line  is  the  first 
of  the  following : 

“  The  longer  life,  the  more  offence  : 

The  more  offence,  the  greater  pain  ; 

The  greater  pain,  the  less  defence  ; 

The  less  defence,  the  lesser  gain  ; 

The  loss  of  gain  long  ill  doth  try, 

*  Wherefore,  come,  death,  and  let  me  die  ! 

Come,  gentle  death,  the  ebb  of  care ; 

The  ebb  of  care,  the  flood  of  life ; 

The  flood  of  life,  the  joyful  fare  ; 

The  joyful  fare,  the  end  of  strife  ; 

The  end  of  strife,  that  thing  wish  I, 

Wherefore,  come,  death,  and  let  me  die  ! 


The  merit  of  the  following  specimen  of  monastic  verse  con¬ 
sists  in  its  being  alike  acrostic ,  mesostic,  and  telestic : 


“  Inter  cuncta  micans 
Expellit  tenebras 
Sic  csecas  removet 
Vivificansque  simul 
Solem  justitke.” 


“  Igniti  sidera  coell 
E  toto  Phoebus  ut  orbE 
JESUS  caliginis  umbraS 
Vero  praecordia  motV 
Sese  probat  esse  beatiS. 


The  following  translation  preserves  the  acrostic  and  mesostic, 
though  not  the  telestic  form  of* the  original: 

“  In  glory,  see  the  rising  sun,  Illustrious  orb  of  day, 

Enlightening  heaven’s  wide  expanse,  Expel  night’s  gloom  away. 

So  light  into  the  darkest  soul,  JeSus,  Thou  dost  impart 
Uplifting  thy  life-giving  smiles,  Upon  the  deadened  heart, 

Sun,  Thou  of  righteousness  divine.  Sole  King  of  saints  Thou  art.” 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  anagram  known  is  that  on  the 
Latin  of  Pilate’s  question  to  the  Saviour. 

“  Quid  est  veritas  ? — Est  vir  qui  adest. 

An  anagram,  which  is  a  species  of  literary  trifling,  is  the 


37G 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEX. 


transposition  of  the  letters  of  a  sentence  into  a  new  combina¬ 
tion,  still  retaining  its  characteristic  applicability. 

Some  of  the  old  monkish  scribes,  known  as  the  lipogram- 
matists,  used  to  beguile  their  leisure  by  composing  a  poem  on 
a  given  subject,  from  which  some  particular  letter  of  the 
alphabet  should  be  excluded.  Gregorio  Leti  presented  a  dis¬ 
course  to  the  Academy  of  the  Humorists  at  Home,  wherein  the 
letter  r  was  excluded ;  and  a  friend  having  requested  a  copy, 
as  a  literary  curiosity,  he  replied  by  a  copious  answer  of  seven 
pages,  written  in  the  same  manner. 

Another  description  of  eccentric  poetry  that  might  be  men¬ 
tioned  is  that  wherein  every  word  of  a  poem  begins  with  the 
same  letter ;  of  which  the  Pugna  Porcorum  is  an  instance, 
containing  about  three  hundred  lines,  every  word  of  which 
begins  with  the  letter  _£>. 

Macaronic  poetry  is  a  mixing  of  words  from  different  lan¬ 
guages,  like  a  dish  of  macaroni ;  in  its  more  general  accepta¬ 
tion  it  includes  alliterative  verse  and  other  peculiar  and 
affected  styles  of  writing.  For  example,  the  line  of  Ennius : 

‘  0  Tite,  frute,  Tati,  tibi  tanta,  Tyranne,  tulisti.” 

And  the  following,  which  has  been  attributed  to  Prof.  Por- 
son : 

“  Cane  decane  eane,  ne  tu  cane  cane  decane, 

De  cane  sed  canis  cane  decane  cane.” 

A  monk  of  the  Benedictine  order,  Folengi,  of  Venice  (better 
known  as  Merlin),  was  a  noted  writer  of  this  kind  of  poetry  in 
Latin.  Lie  lived  during  the  first  half  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
In  later  times,  Drummond  of  Ilawthornden  wrote  the  first 
British  macaronic  poem  ;  then  followed  Dr.  Geddes  (1737- 
1802),  who  wrote  several  small  volumes  of  this  kind  of  litera¬ 
ture. 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


377 


Porson  once  observing  that  be  conlcl  pun  on  any  subject,  a 
person  present  defied  him  to  do  so  on  the  Latin  gerunds,  which, 
however,  he  immediately  did  in  the  following  admirable  coup¬ 
let : 

“  When  Dido  found  iEneas  would  not  come, 

She  sat  in  silence,  and  was  Di-do-dum.” 

# 

The  anagram  is  formed  by  the  transposition  of  the  letters  of 
a  name,  by  which  a  new  word  or  phrase  of  some  characteristic 
significance  with  the  former  is  formed.  One  of  the  most  suc¬ 
cessful  specimens  is  that  by  Dr.  Burney  on  Horatio  Nelson , — 
Honor  est  a  Nilo, — referring  to  his  celebrated  victory. 

One  of  the  most  skilful  anagrams  known  was  that  on  Ma- 
gliabechi ,  by  Pere  Finardi  :  Antonius  Magliabechius — Is  unus 
bibliotheca  magna. 

Among  ingenious  literary  fabrications,  Swift’s  celebrated 
Latin  puns  deserve  a  prominent  place,  for  they  have  never 
been  excelled.  This  species  of  composition  consists  of  Latin 
words,  and  allowing  for  false  spelling  and  the  running  the 
words  into  each  other,  makes  good  sense  in  English  as  well  as 
Latin.  For  example — 

“  Apud  in  is  almi  de  si  re, 

Mimis  tres  I  ne  ver  re  qui  re, 

Alo  veri  findit  a  gestis, 

His  miseri  ne  ver  at  restis.” 

“  Mollis  abuti, 

Has  an  acuti, 

No  las^)  finis, 

Omnide  armistress, 

Cantu  disco  ver, 

Meas  alo  ver  ?  ” 


‘  ‘  A  pudding  is  all  my  desire, 
My  mistress  I  never  require, 
A  lover  I  find  it  a  jest  is, 
His  misery  never  at  rest  is.  ” 

“Moll  is  a  beauty, 

Has  an  acute  eye, 

No  lass  so  fine  is, 

Oh  my  dear  mistress, 
Can’t  you  discover, 

Me  as  a  lover.” 


Here  is  another  waif  belonging  to  the  same  class : 

“  There  was  a  bard  in  sad  quandary, 

To  find  the  rhyme  for  Tipperary  ; 


378 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


He  hunted  through  the  dictionary, 
But  found  no  rhyme  for  Tipperary  ; 
He  rummaged  the  vocabulary, 

But  still  no  rhyme  for  Tipperary  ; 

He  applied  unto  his  mother  Mary, 

To  know  the  rhyme  for  Tipperary  ; 
But  she,  good  woman,  knew  her  dairy, 
But  not  the  rhyme  for  Tipperary.” 


Among  rhythmical  puns  may  be  cited  the  lines  attributed 
to  the  bard  of  Avon,  whether  correctly  or  not,  we  need  not 
stay  to  inquire.  We  subjoin  the  first  and  third  stanzas 
only : 

“  Would  ye  be  taught,  ye  feathered  throng, 

With  love’s  sweet  notes  to  grace  your  song, 

To  pierce  the  heart  with  thrilling  lay, 

Listen  to  mine  Anne  Hathaway ! 

She  hath  a  way  to  sing  so  clear, 

Phoebus  might,  wondering,  stop  to  hear  ! 

To  melt  the  sad,  make  blithe  the  gay, 

And  nature  charm,  Anne  hath  a  way ; 

She  hath  a  way, 

Anne  Hathaway : 

To  breathe  delight,  Anne  hath  a  way.” 
****** 

Talk  not  of  gems,  the  orient  list, 

The  diamond,  topaz,  amethyst, 

The  emerald  mild,  the  ruby  gay, 

Talk  of  my  gem — Anne  Hathaway  ! 

She  hath  a  way,  with  her  bright  eye, 

Their  various  lustre  to  defy —  # 

The  jewel  she,  the  foil,  they, 

So  sweet  to  look,  Anne  Hathaway ; 

She  hath  a  way, 

Anne  Hathaway : 

To  shame  bright  gems  Anne  hath  a  way  !  ” 


Here  is  another  poetical  play  upon  a  name  not  unworthy  of 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


379 


a  place  here.  It  is  an  epigram  upon  a  lady  rejoicing  in  the 
name  of  Rain  :  the  author  is  not  known  : 

‘  ‘  While  shivering’  beaux  at  weather  rail, — 

Of  frost  and  snow,  and  ■wind  and  hail, 

And  heat  and  cold  complain  ; 

My  steadier  mind  is  always  bent, 

On  one  sole  object  of  content, 

I  ever  wish  for  Pain ; 

Hymen,  thy  votary’s  prayer  attend, 

His  anxious  hope  and  suit  befriend, 

Let  him  not  ask  in  vain  ; 

His  thirsty  soul,  his  parched  estate, 

His  glowing  breast  commiserate — 

In  pity  give  him — Rain  !  ” 

Here  are  a  few  more  eccentricities  of  the  pen,  which  have 
been  styled  Paronomasia  (which  is  the  short  for  play  upon 
words) : 

“  Write,  we  know  is  written  right, 

Then  we  see  it  written — write  ; 

But  when  we  see  it  written  wright, 

We  know  it  is  not  written  right : 

For  write,  to  have  it  written  right, 

Must  not  be  written,  right  or  wright, 

Nor  yet  should  it  be  written  rite  ; — 

But  write,  for  so  ’tis  written  right.  ” 


“  Now,  that  is  a  word,  that  may  often  be  joined, 

For  that  that  may  be  doubled  is  clear  to  the  mind ; 

And  that  that  that  is  right,  is  as  plain  to  the  view, 

As  that,  that  that  that  we  use,  is  rightly  used,  too, 

And  that  that  that  that  that  line  has  in  it,  is  right — 

In  accordance  with  grammar — is  plain  in  our  sight.  ” 

‘  ‘  Schott  and  Willing  did  engage  in  duel  fierce  and  hot ; 

Schott  shot  Willing  willingly,  and  Willing  he  shot  Schott. 

The  shot  Schott  shot  made  Willing  quite  a  spectacle  to  see, 

While  Willing’s  willing  shot  went  right  through  Schott’s  anatomy.” 


380 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEX. 


“  I  cannot  bear  to  see  a  bear  bear  down  upon  a  bare. 

When  bare  of  hair  he  strips  the  hare,  for  hare  I  cry,  1  forbear  ’  !  ” 

As  an  instance  of  eclio-versifying,  Addison’s  song  is  note¬ 
worthy  : 

“Echo,  tell  me,  while  I  wander  o’er  this  fairy  plain  to  prove  him, 

If  my  shepherd  still  grows  fonder,  ought  I,  in  return,  to  love  him  ? 

Echo — Love  him,  love  him. 

“  If  he  loves,  as  is  the  fashion,  should  I  churlishly  forsake  him  ? 

Or,  in  pity  to  his  passion,  fondly  to  my  bosom  take  him  ? 

Echo — Take  him,  take  him.  ’ 

Here  is  another  example  : 

“  Has  Phoebe  not  a  heavenly  brow  ? 

Is  it  not  white  as  pearl — as  snow  ? 

Ass !  no! 

1  ‘  Her  eyes — was  ever  such  a  pair  ? 

Are  the  stars  brighter  than  they  are  ? 

They  are  ! 

“  Echo,  thou  liest, — but  can’t  deceive  me  ; 

Her  eyes  eclipse  the  stars, — believe  me — 

Leave  me  ! 

“But  come,  thou  saucy,  pert  romancer, 

Who  is  as  fair  as  Phoebe  ?  answer  ! 

Ann.  Sir!  ” 

•  ’ 

The  line  from  Gray’s  “ Elegy,”  “The  ploughman  homeward 
plods  his  weary  way,”  has  been  found  to  admit  of  eighteen 
transpositions,  without  destroying  the  rhyme,  or  altering  the 
sense  ;  the  reader  will  be  content  wTith  the  following  : 

“  The  weary  ploughman  plods  his  homeward  way. 

The  weary  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  way. 

The  ploughman,  weary,  plods  his  homeward  way. 

The  ploughman,  weary,  homeward  plods  his  way. 

Weary  the  ploughman  plods  his  homeward  way. 

Weary  the  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  way. 

Homeward  the  ploughman  plods  his  weary  way. 

Homeward  the  weary  ploughman  plods  his  way. 

Homeward  the  ploughman,  weary,  plods  his  way. 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


381 


The  homeward  ploughman  weary  plods  his  way. 
The  homeward  ploughman  plods  his  weary  way.” 


The  following  mongrel  stanzas  afford  a  good  instance  of 
Mosaic  verse : 


“  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

In  every  clime,  from  Lapland  to  Japan  ; 

To  fix  one  spark  of  beauty’s  heavenly  ray 
The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man. 

“Tell !  for  you  can,  what  is  it  to  be  wise, 

Sweet  Auburn,  loveliest  village  of  the  plain  ? 

‘  The  man  of  Ross  !  ’  each  lisping  babe  replies, 

And  drags,  at  each  remove,  a  length’ning  chain. 

‘  ‘  Ah  !  who  can  tell  how  hard  it  is  to  climb 
Far  as  the  solar  walk  or  milky- way  ? 

Procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time, 

Let  Hercules  himself  do  what  he  may. 

“  ’Tis  education  forms  the  common  mind, 

The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul ; 

I  must  be  cruel  only  to  be  kind, 

And  waft  a  sigh  from  Indus  to  the  pole. 

* 

“  Syphax  !  I  joy  to  meet  thee  thus  alone, 

Where’er  I  roam,  whatever  lands  I  see ; 

A  youth  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown, 

In  maiden  meditation  fancy  free. 

“  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man, 

Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast ; 

Laugh  where  we  must,  be  candid  where  we  can, 

Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest.” 

Here  is  another  specimen  of  literary  ingenuity.  Two  words 
of  opposite  meanings,  spelled  with  exactly  the  same  letters, 
form  a  Telestick ;  that  is,  the  letters  beginning  the  lines — when 


382 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


united — were  to  give  one  of  the  words,  and  the  letters  at  the 
end  were  to  produce  the  other — thus : 

“TJ-nite  and  untie  are  the  same — so  say  yo-U 
N-ot  in  wedlock,  I  wean,  has  the  unity  bee-N 
I-n  the  drama  of  marriage,  each  wandering  gou-T 
T-o  a  new  face  would  fly — all  except  you  and  I, 

E-ach  seeking  to  alter  the  spell  in  their  scen-E.” 

Hood,  the  “  prince  of  punsters,”  never  exceeded,  perhaps,  the 
following  adroit  surprises  of  this  one  stanza  : 

“  His  death ,  which  happened  in  his  berth, 

At  forty  odd  befell ; 

They  went  and  told  the  sexton,  and 
The  sexton  tolled  the  bell.” 

Scott  said  once  that  some  of  his  friends  were  bad  accountants , 
but  excellent  book-keepers.  Hood  has  some  witty  lines  on  the 
subject  of  literary  larceny  : 

‘  ‘  How  hard,  when  those  who  do  not  wish  to  lend — that’s  lose — their  books, 

Are  snared  by  anglers — folks  that  fish  with  literary  hooks, 

Who  call  and  take  some  favorite  tome,  but  never  read  it  through. 

They  thus  complete  their  set  at  home,  by  making  one  of  you ! 

I,  of  my  Spenser ,  quite  bereft,  last  winter  sore  was  shaken ; 

Of  Lamb ,  I’ve  but  a  quarter  left,  nor  could  I  save  my  Bacon. 

They  picked  my  Locke ,  to  me  far  more  than  Brahma’s  patent  worth ; 

And  now  my  losses  I  deplore,  without  a  Home  on  earth  ! 

My  life  is  wasting  fast  away — I  suffer  from  these  shocks 

And  though  I’ve  fixed  a  lock  on  Gray ,  there’s  gray  upon  my  locks.  ” 

We  ought  to  supplement  the  foregoing  with  Punch's  advice 
under  such  circumstances,  to  wit :  “  Never  lend  your  books.” 

Hood’s  Nocturnal  Sketch  is  a  successful  illustration  of  a 
triple  rhyme.  Most  bards  are  content  with  one  rhyme  at  the 
end  of  the  line,  but  here  we  have  three,  without  weakening  the 
sense. 

“Even  has  come,  and  from  the  dark  park,  hark ! 

The  signal  of  the  setting  sun — one  gun  1 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


383 


And  six  is  sounding  from  the  chime, — prime  time 
To  go  and  see  the  Drary  Lane  Dane  slain ; 

Or  hear  Othello’s  jealous  doubt  spout  out, 

Or  Macbeth  raving  at  that  shade -made  blade  : 

Or  in  the  small  Olympic  pit,  sit  split, 

Laughing  at  Liston,  while  you  quiz  his  phiz ! 

Anon,  Night  comes — and  with  her  wings,  brings  things 
Such  as,  with  his  poetic  tongue,  Young  sung  : 

The  gas  upblazes  with  its  bright,  white  light, 

And  paralytic  watchmen  prowl,  howl,  growl. 

Now  puss,  while  folks  are  in  their  beds,  treads  leads, 

And  sleepers  grumble — ‘  ‘  drat  that  cat !  ” 

Who  in  the  gutter  catterwauls,  squalls,  mauls, 

Some  feline  foe,  and  screams  in  shrill  ill-will. 

While  nurse-maid  in  a  nightmare  rest,  chest-pressed, 

Dreameth  of  one  of  her  old  flames,  James  Grames  ; 

And  that  she  hears — what  faith  is  man’s — Anne’s  banns. 

And  his,  from  Reverend  Mr.  Rice,  twice,  thrice  ! 

White  ribbons  flourish,  and  a  stout  shout  out, 

That  upward  goes,  shows  Rose  knows  those  beaux’s  woes  !  ” 

At  the  commencement  of  our  desultory  gossip  concerning 
the  eccentricities  of  the  pen  we  referred  to  some  of  the  pet- 
books  of  authors ;  we  all  have  our  especial  book-loves — books 
that  nestle  closely  around  our  affections,  and  which  through 
life  we  cling  to  with  the  ardor  of  a  first-love. 

Do  we  err,  gentle  reader,  in  suspecting  that  such  literary 
loves  are  thine?  That  some  select  favorites  occupy  the  place 
of  honor  on  the  shelves  of  thy  library  ?  Were  we  to  venture 
a  conjecture  as  to  who  these  favorites  of  thine  may  be,  we 
should  instinctively  be  guided  by  our  own  choice.  Does  not 
honest  Izaak  Walton  belong  to  the  category  \  For  a  sequestered 
place  and  hour  who  could  be  preferred  before  him — so  replete 
with  genial  sentiment  and  sagacious  aphorism?  Do  not  Ilaz- 
litt,  Leigh  Hunt,  and  Charles  Lamb  form  a  triumvirate  of  wor¬ 
thies  unsurpassed  in  belles-lettres?  For  winter’s  fireside  or 
summer-time  ramble  who  can  offer  to  us  pleasanter  matter  of 


384 


PASTIMES  OF  THE  PEN. 


discourse  than  Elia  /  so  charged  with  electric  wit  and  subtle 
humor  \  And  are  not  the  delightful  collectanea  of  literary  cu¬ 
riosities  of  D’lsraeli  an  inexhaustible  resource  of  intellectual 
pleasure  ?  If,  a- weary  and  toil-worn,  we  turn  from  the  din  and 
turmoil  of  the  world,  what  can  be  devised  better  suited  to  be¬ 
guile  our  cares  into  peace  ;  and  if  we  can  excuse  their  prolixity, 
are  there  not  also  Montaigne,  and  Burton  ;  seed-books  for  cen¬ 
turies  of  later  writers  and  rife  as  ever  with  curious  and  saga¬ 
cious  facts  and  fancies.  Then,  again,  we  do  not  forget  the 
essayists  and  novelists,  Irving,  Dickens,  and  Bulwer ;  and  the 
priesthood  of  song,  from  Shakespeare  to  Tennyson  and  Long¬ 
fellow.  Yes,  we  subscribe  to  the  sentiment  of  the  poet  where 
he  sings  : 

u  Oh,  sweet  ’twill  be — or  hope  would  so  believe, 

When  close  round  life  its  fading  tints  of  eve 
To  turn  again,  our  earlier  volumes  o’er, 

And  love  them  then,  because  we’ve  loved  before, 

And  inly  bless  the  waning  hour  that  brings 
A  will  to  lean  once  more  on  simple  things. 

If  this  be  weakness,  welcome  life’s  decline, 

If  this  be  second  childhood,  be  it  mine.” 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 

The  “  odor  of  sanctity  ”  which  attaches  to  the  ollice  of  the 
Christian  ministry  has  ever  claimed  and  received  the  deference 
of  mankind.  The  ancient  seers,  prophets,  and  patriarchs  who 
were  commissioned  to  make  known  the  will  of  the  Supreme, 
under  the  impulse  of  a  direct  inspiration,  were  regarded  as 
supernaturally  endowed,  and  their  utterances  deemed  oracular. 
A  commission  divinely  authorized  and  invested  with  such  moral 
grandeur,  demands  a  corresponding  elevation  of  character — 
intellectual,  moral,  and  religious — in  those  who  assume  its 
functions  ;  and  the  world  naturally  looks  for  these  accessories. 

“A  parson,”  writes  George  Herbert,  “is  the  deputy  of 
25 


380 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


Christ  for  the  reducing  of  man  to  the  obedience  of  God.”  He 
further  quaintly  adds :  “  His  apparel  is  plain,  but  reverend,  and 
clean  without  spots  or  dust ;  the  purity  of  his  mind  breaking 
out  and  dilating  itself,  even  to  his  body,  clothes,  and  habi¬ 
tation.”  This  remark  of  Herbert  probably  originated  the 
saying  that  u  cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness,”  which  has  been 
ascribed  to  John  Wesley. 

Some  regard  the  clerical  profession  with  a  blind,  supersti¬ 
tious  reverence — these  are  the  victims  of  priestcraft.  There 
are  others  with  equal  absurdity,  who  deem  it  the  asylum  of 
infatuation  and  indolence — these  are  the  sceptical  and  profane. 
A  third  class  a;*e  those  who  appreciate  its  worth,  and  who  ven¬ 
erate  the  sacred  office,  regarding  it  as  Heaven’s  expedient  for 
securing  the  moral  elevation  and  happiness  of  the  race  ;  an 
institution  of  the  highest  importance  to  man’s  present  and 
eternal  wffil-being. 

That  the  embassy  with  which  the  Christian  minister  is 
charged  is  one  of  difficulty,  is  undeniable,  for  it  has  to  contend 
against  the  moral  forces  constantly  in  operation  in  the  human 
heart,  which  are  antagonistic  to  its  claims.  Yet  the  sacredness 
of  its  sanctions  may  well  fire  the  zeal  of  its  advocate,  and  ren¬ 
der  him  superior  to  all  opposition. 

Among  the  early  Christians  the  modern  style  of  preaching 
was  reversed  ;  the  preacher  generally  delivered  his  exhortation 
in  a  sitting  posture,  while  the  congregation  heard  him  standing. 
Chrysostom  preached  in  this  manner. 

It  is  related  even  of  Constantine  the  Great  that  he  did  not 
resume  his  seat  during  a  long  sermon  by  Eusebius,  and  that  all 
the  assembly  followed  his  example. 

The  old  English  name,  parson,  is  supposed  to  be  a  corrup¬ 
tion  of  person,  the  person — by  eminence.  Fuller  remarks  that 
the  Scriptures  give  four  names  to  Christians,  taken  from  the 
four  cardinal  graces  :  Saints ,  for  their  holiness  ;  believers ,  for 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES.  387 

their  faith ;  brethren ,  for  their  love ;  disciples,  for  their 
knowledge. 

The  clergy  were  originally  styled  clerks,  from  the  Norman 
custom  of  their  judges  being  chosen  from  the  sacred  order. 
In  the  first  century,  they  were  distinguished  by  the  titles  of 
presbyter  and  bishops.  Church  music  is  supposed  to  have  been 
first  introduced  by  Gregory  the  Great,  a.d.  602.  Church- 
steeples  were  originally  parochial  fortresses. 

Sydney  Smith  thus  defines  the  object  of  preaching  :  “  It  is 

constantly  to  remind  mankind  of  what  mankind  is  constantly 
forgetting ;  not  to  supply  the  defects  of  human  intelligence, 
but  to  fortify  the  feebleness  of  human  resolutions ;  to  recall 
mankind  from  the  by-paths  where  they  turn,  into  the  path  of 
salvation  which  all  know  but  few  tread.” 

The  aims  and  topics  of  the  pulpit  have  been  eloquently  con¬ 
densed  by  Talfourd.  We  transcribe  the  passage  : 

“  The  subjects  of  the  pulpit  have  never  been  varied  from 
the  day  the  Holy  Spirit  visibly  descended  on  the  first  advocates 
of  the  gospel  in  tongues  of  fire.  They  are  in  no  danger  of 
being  exhausted  by  frequency,  or  changed  with  the  vicissitudes 
of  mortal  fortune.  They  have  immediate  relation  to  that  eter¬ 
nity,  the  idea  of  which  is  the  living  soul  of  all  poetry  and  art. 
It  is  the  province  of  the  preacher  of  Christianity  to  develop 
the  connection  between  this  world  and  the  next ;  to  watch  over 
the  beginning  of  a  course  that  will  endure  forever,  and  to  trace 
the  broad  shadows  cast  from  imperishable  realities  on  the  shift¬ 
ing  scenery  of  earth.  The  mysteries  of  our  being,  life  and 
death,  both  in  their  strange  essences  and  in  their  sublimer  re¬ 
lation,  are  topics  of  their  ministry.  There  is  nothing  affecting 
in  the  human  conditions,  nothing  majestic  in  the  affections, 
nothing  touching  in  the  instability  of  human  dignities,  the 
fragility  of  loveliness,  or  the  heroism  of  self-sacrifice,  which  is 
not  a  theme  suited  to  their  high  purposes.  It  is  theirs  to  dwell . 


388 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


on  the  oldest  history  of  the  world  ;  on  the  beautiful  simplicity 
of  the  patriarchal  age ;  on  the  stern  and  awful  religion,  and 
marvellous  story  of  the  Hebrews ;  on  the  glorious  visions  of 
the  prophets  and  their  fulfilment ;  on  the  character,  miracles, 
and  death  of  the  Saviour ;  on  all  the  wonders  and  all  the 
beauty  of  the  Scriptures.” 

What  a  sermon  should  be,  may  be  gathered  from  the  follow¬ 
ing  :  “  It  should  be  brief ;  if  lengthy,  it  will  steep  our  hearts 
in  apathy,  our  eyes  in  sleep.  It  should  be  warm,  a  living  altar- 
coal,  to  melt  the  icy  heart  and  charm  the  soul.  It  should  be 
simple,  practical  and  clear ;  no  fine-spun  theory  to  charm  the 
ear.  It  should  be  tender  and  affectionate,  as  His  warm  theme, 
who  wept  lost  Salem’s  fate.  It  should  be  mixed  with  many  an 
ardent  prayer,  to  reach  the  heart,  and  fix  and  fasten  there.” 

We  are  as  much  under  law  to  religion  as  to  morals.  “Mor¬ 
ality,  without  religion,  is  only  a  kind  of  dead  reckoning — an 
endeavor  to  find  our  place  on  a  cloudy  sea,  by  measuring  the 
distance  we  have  to  run,  but  without  any  observation  of  the 
heavenly  bodies.” 

“  Oraiio  est  clavis  diei ,  et  sera  noctis ,” — the  key  of  the  day, 
and  the  lock  of  the  night,  is  prayer.  This  was  the  beautiful 
saying  of  a  monk  of  olden  time,  and  it  is  fragrant  for  all  sea¬ 
sons. 

Luther  said  :  “  Prayer,  meditation,  and  temptation  make  a 
minister.”  Another  vigorous  phrase  of  his  is  well  known — 
“ Bene  orasse ,  bene  studuisse ,” — to  pray  well,  is  to  study  well. 
Prayer  is  not,  however,  the  solemn  duty  of  the  clergy  alone, 
but  of  all ;  the  common  privilege  of  dependent  creatures.  An 
old  writer  has  quaintly  said :  “  God  looks  not  at  the  oratory 
of  our  prayers,  how  eloquent  they  are  ;  nor  at  their  geometry, 
how  long  they  are  ;  nor  at  their  arithmetic,  how  many  they 
are ;  nor  at  their  logic,  how  methodical  they  are ;  but  he  looks 
at  their  sincerity,  how  spiritual  they  are.” 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


389 


A  Neapolitan  monk,  named  Gabrielle  Barlette,  wished  on  one 
occasion  to  rebuke  the  distracting  thoughts  which  too  often  be¬ 
set  men  when  engaged  in  prayer.  He  illustrated  the  point  by 
introducing  a  priest  engaged  in  his  morning  devotions,  and  say¬ 
ing,  “  Pater  noster  qui  es  in  coelis  ” — {I  say,  lad,  saddle  the  horse, 
Pm  going  to  town  to-day  !)  sanctificatur  nomen  tuum — (Cathe- 
•  rine,  put  the  pot  on  the  fire),  fiat  voluntas  tua — (take  care,  the 
cat’s  at  the  cheese),  panem  nostrum  quotidian um — (mind  the 
white  horse  has  his  feed  of  oats).  This  seems  like  double  deal¬ 
ing,  and  yet  it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  these  monks  of 
old  meant  to  be  undevout ;  it  was  rather  the  natural  result  of 
formalism. 

“  Texts  have  always  been  regarded  with  curiosity  and  inter¬ 
est,  have  been  selected  from  worthy  and  unworthy  motives ; 
they  have  been  applied  and  misapplied,  and  made  the  vehicles 
for  personal  and  political  allusions ;  with  wilful  ingenuity  and 
unscriptural  spirit,  they  have  been  turned  into  jokes,  twisted 
into  puns,  and  treated  with  as  little  scruple  as  though  they  had 
been  the  words  of  heathen  poets  ;  they  have  been  manipulated 
by  abbreviated  quotations,  and  tortured  with  false  emphasis,  in 
order  to  present  oddities  and  incongruities  by  no  means  in  ac¬ 
cordance  with  the  original  terms ;  and  we  can  hardly  wonder 
at  so  much  attention  being  drawn  to  the  text  that  it  fre¬ 
quently  eclipses  the  sermon  in  the  memory  of  its  hearers.” 

Whitefield  once  gave  as  his  text,  “  There  came  unto  Him  cer¬ 
tain  lawyers  ;  ”  and  then  apparently  detected  his  purposed  mis¬ 
quotation,  and  said,  “not  certain  lawyers,  but  a  certain  lawyer. 
It  was  wonderful  that  even  one  lawyer  should  have  been  found 
to  do  this ;  it  would  have  been  perfectly  incredible  had  there 
been  more ;  ”  the  point  of  this  lying  in  the  circumstance  that  some 
lawyers  were  present  who*  had  expressly  come  there  to  scoff  at 
him.  A  Shrewsbury  dissenting  minister  preached  a  funeral  ser¬ 
mon  for  the  Rev.  John  Angell  James ,  of  Birmingham,  from 


390 


PULPIT  PECULLURITIES. 


the  combined  texts,  “  A  man  sent  from  God  whose  name  was 
John.  I  saw  the  Angel  fly  in  the  midst  of  heaven.  James  the 
servant  of  God.”  The  first  portion  of  this  text  is  also  said  to 
have  been  used  by  the  Archbishop  of  Vienna,  when  he 
preached  before  John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  who  had  de¬ 
livered  Vienna  from  the  Turks.  “  There  is  no  fool  like  the 
foolhardy,”  was  the  text  of  the  Pev.  Dr.  Williamson,  who  had 
a  quarrel  with  a  parishioner  named  Hardy.  “  Adam,  where 
art  thou  ?  ”  was  the  text  of  the  probation  sermon  of  Mr.  Low, 
who,  with  a  Mr.  Adam,  was  a  candidate  for  a  lectureship  ; 
“  Lo,  here  I  am !  ”  was  the  responsive  text  of  his  rival,  Mr. 
Adam.  When  Dr.  Mountain ,  longing  for  a  vacant  bishopric, 
preached  before  Charles  II.,  his  text  was,  “  If  thou  hadst  faith 
as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  and  said  unto  this  mountain,  be 
thou  removed  and  cast  into  the  see,  it  should  be  done.” 

When  Dr.  Bradon  was  rector  of  Etham  in  Kent,  the  text  he 
one  day  took  to  preach  from  was,  “  Who  art  thou  ?  ”  Just  at 
the  instant  a  military  functionary,  somewhat  verdant,  supposing 
the  question  addressed  to  himself,  was  marching  up  the  middle 
aisle  of  the  church,  and  replied,  “  I  am,  sir,  an  officer  of  the 
17th  regiment  of  foot,  on  a  4  recruiting  party  here  5  !  ” 

A  certain  bishop,  in  a  sermon  to  his  parishioners,  repeated 
the  above  text,  “  All  flesh  is  grass.”  The  season  was  Lent, 
and  a  few  days  afterward  he  encountered  one  of  his  flock,  who 
appeared  to  have  something  on  his  mind.  The  top  of  the 
mornin5  to  your  riverence,”  said  Terence ;  “  did  I  fairly  under¬ 
stand  your  riverence  to  say, 1  All  flesh  is  grass,5  last  Sunday  ? 55 
“  To  be  sure  you  did,”  replied  the  bishop,  “  and  you’re  a  here¬ 
tic  if  you  doubt  it.”  “  Oh,  I  don’t  doubt  anything  your  river¬ 
ence  says,”  was  the  reply,  “  but  I  wish  to  know  whether  in  this 
Lint  time  I  could  not  be  after  havin’  a  small  piece  of  ~bafe  by 
way  of  a  salad  ?  ” 

An  eccentric  dominie,  Mathew  Byles,  of  Boston,  Mass.,  in 


« 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


391 


1776,  seems  to  have  been  as  inveterate  a  joker  as.  Sydney 
Smith.  Upon  a  fast  day,  Dr.  Byles  had  negotiated  an  ex¬ 
change  with  a  country  clergyman.  Upon  the  appointed  morn¬ 
ing,  each  of  them — for  vehicles  were  not  common  then — pro¬ 
ceeded  on  horseback  to  his  respective  place  of  appointment. 
Dr.  Byles  no  sooner  observed  his  brother  clergyman  ap¬ 
proaching,  at  a  distance,  than  he  applied  the  whip,  put  his 
horse  into  a  gallop,  and  with  his  canonicals  flying  all  abroad, 
passed  his  friend  at  full  run.  “What  is  the  matter?”  he  ex¬ 
claimed,  raising  his  hand  in  astonishment ;  “  why  so  fast, 
Brother  Byles?”  To  which  the  doctor  without  slackening  his 
speed  replied  over  his  shoulder,  “  It  is  fast  day  !  ” 

As  he  was  once  occupied  in  nailing  some  list  upon  his  doors,  to 
exclude  the  cold,  a  parishioner  said  to  him,  “  The  wind  bloweth 
wheresoever  it  listeth,  Dr.  Byles.”  “  Yes,  sir,”  replied  the  doc¬ 
tor,  “  and  man  listeth  wheresoever  the  wind  bloweth.” 

Byles  was  arrested  as  a  Tory ,  and  subsequently  tried,  con¬ 
victed,  and  sentenced  to  confinement  on  board  a  guard-ship,  and 
to  be  sent  to  England  with  his  family  in  forty  days.  This  sen¬ 
tence  was  changed,  by  the  board  of  war,  to  confinement  in  his 
own  house.  A  guard  was  placed  over  him.  After  a  time  the 
sentinel  was  removed,  afterward  replaced,  and  again  removed, 
when  the  doctor  exclaimed,  that  he  had  been  guarded ,  re¬ 
garded ,  and  disregarded.  He  called  his  sentry  his  observ-a- 
tory. 

The  two  celebrated  divines  and  scholars,  Doctors  South  and 
Sherlock,  were  once  disputing  on  some  religious  subject,  when 
the  latter  accused  his  opponent  of  using  his  wit  in  the  contro¬ 
versy.  “Well,”  said  South,  “suppose  it  had  pleased  God  to 
give  you  wit,  what  would  you  have  done  ?  ” 

Among  the  eccentricities  of  the  pulpit  we  ought  not  to  omit 
the  temperance  lecture  ascribed  to  a  Mr.  Dodd,  of  Cambridge, 
England..  On  one  occasion,  when  challenged  to  preach  against 


392 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


intoxication,  he  delivered  the  following  unpremeditated  short 
sermon,  under  a  tree,  by  the  road  side,  from  the  word 
malt.  lie  commenced  bv  statim?  that  lie  had  chosen  a  short 
text,  which  could  not  be  divided  into  sentences,  there  being 
none ;  nor  into  words,  there  being  but  one ;  he  therefore 
divided  it  into  letters,  thus:  M,  is  moral,  A,  is  allegorical,  L,  is 
literal,  T,  is  theological.  Ilis  exposition  ran  as  follows :  The 
moral  is  to  teach  you  good  manners  ;  therefore,  M,  my  masters, 
A,  all  of  you,  L,  leave  off,  T,  tippling.  The  allegorical  is,  when 
one  thing  is  spoken  of,  and  another  meant.  The  thing  spoken 
of  is  malt,  the  thing  meant  is  the  spirit  of  malt,  which  you 
make,  M,  your  meat,  A,  your  apparel,  L,  your  liberty,  and  T, 
your  trust.  The  literal  is,  according  to  the  letters,  M,  much, 
A,  ale,  L,  little,  T,  trust.  The  theological  is,  according  to  the 
effects  it  works  in  some,  M,  murder,  in  others,  A,  adultery,  in 
all,  L,  looseness  of  life,  and  in  many,  T,  treachery. 

A  certain  minister  had  a  custom  of  writino;  the  heads  of  his 
discourse  on  small  slips  of  paper,  which  he  placed  on  the  Bible 
before  him,  to  be  used  in  succession.  One  day,  when  he  was 
explaining  the  second  head,  he  got  so  excited  in  his  discourse 
that  he  caused  the  ensuing  slip  to  fall  over  the  edge  of  the  pul¬ 
pit,  though  unperceived  by  himself.  On  reaching  the  end  of  his 
second  head,  he  looked  down  for  the  third  slip ;  but,  alas !  it 
was  not  to  be  found.  “  Thirdly,”  he  cried,  looking  round  him 
with  great  anxiety.  After  a  little  pause,  “  Thirdly,”  again  he 
exclaimed  ;  but  still  no  thirdly  appeared.  “  Thirdly,  I  say,  my 
brethren,”  pursued  the  bewildered  clergyman ;  but  not  another 
word  could  he  utter.  At  this  point,  while  the  congregation 
were  partly  sympathizing  in  his  distress,  and  partly  rejoicing  in 
such  a  decisive  instance  of  the  impropriety  of  using  notes  in  the 
preaching — which  has  always  been  an  unpopular  thing  in  the 
Scotch  clergy — an  old  woman  rose  up  and  thus  addressed  the 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


393 


preacher  :  “  If  I’m  nae  mista’en,  sir,  I  saw  thirdly  flee  out  at  the 
east  window  a  quarter  of  an  hour  syne.” 

Frederick  the  Great  beino-  informed  of  the  death  of  one  of 

o 

his  chaplains  took  the  following  method  of  ascertaining  the 
merits  of  one  of  the  candidates  for  the  appointment.  lie  told 

the  applicant  that  he  would  himself  furnish  him  with  a  text  the 

✓ 

following  Sunday,  when  he  was  to  preach  at  the  royal  chapel, 
from  which  he  wTas  to  make  an  extempore  sermon.  The  cler¬ 
gyman  accepted  the  proposition.  The  whim  of  such  a  proba¬ 
tionary  discourse  was  spread  abroad  widely,  and  at  an  early 
hour  the  royal  chapel  was  crowed  to  excess.  The  king  arrived 
at  the  end  of  the  prayers,  and  on  the  candidate’s  ascending  the 
pulpit,  one  of  his  majesty’s  aides-de-camp  presented  him  with 
a  sealed  paper.  The  preacher  opened  it  and  found  nothing 
therein  ;  turning  the  paper  on  both  sides,  he  said  :  “  My  breth¬ 
ren,  here  is  nothing,  and  there  is  nothing  ;  out  of  nothing  God 
created  all  things;  ”  and  proceeded  to  deliver  a  discourse  upon 
the  wonders  of  Creation. 

The  following  anecdote  illustrates  the  peculiarities  of  charac¬ 
ter  of  western  pioneer  life,  as  well  as  of  a  certain  “  presiding 
elder,”  Peter  Cartwright.  When  the  State  of  Illinois  was 
admitted  into  the  Union  it  was  as  a  free  State.  Uot  long 
after  the  question  wras  largely  discussed  whether  the  Consti¬ 
tution  of  the  State  should  not  be  so  amended  as  to  permit 
slavery.  Cartwright,  who  then  resided  in  Tennessee,  was  a 
strong  opponent  of  slavery,  and  determined  to  remove  to  Illi¬ 
nois  to  take  part  in  the  settlement  of  the  question.  So  he  was 
appointed  u  Presiding  Elder”  over  a  district  about  as  large  as 
England.  lie  kept  his  appointments,  and  after  preaching  on 
Sunday  was  wont  to  announce  that  on  Monday  he  would 
deliver  a  “  stump  speech.”  lie  soon  became  regarded  as  a  poli¬ 
tician,  and  no  little  anger  was  excited  against  him.  One  day 
coming  to  a  ferry  across  the  river,  where  he  was  not  personally 


334 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


known,  he  heard  the  ferry-man  holding  forth  to  a  crowd  in  bit¬ 
ter  terms  against  that  “old  renegade,” — prefixing  sundry  em¬ 
phatic  expletives  to  that  flattering  term — Pete  Cartwright, 
declaring  that  he  would  drown  him  if  he  ever  came  that  way. 
After  a  while  Peter  engaged  the  ferry-mail  to  put  him  over. 
They  were  alone  in  the  boat,  and  when  they  had  reached  the  cen¬ 
tre  of  the  stream,  in  full  sight  of  the  shore,  the  preacher,  throw¬ 
ing  the  bridle  of  his  horse  over  a  post,  ordered  the  ferry-man  to 
put  down  his  pole.  “What  is  the  matter ?”  asked  the  ferry¬ 
man.  “You  have  just  been  making  free  with  my  name  and 
threatening  to  drown  me  in  the  river.  I  want  to  give  you  a 
chance  to  do  so.”  “You  are  Pete  Cartwright,  are  you?” 
“  My  name  is  Peter  Cartwright,”  replied  the  preacher.  The 
ferry-man,  nothing  loath,  laid  down  his  pole,  and  the  contest 
began.  The  preacher  proved  the  better  man,  and  seizing  his 
antagonist  by  the  nape  of  the  neck  and  the  seat  of  his  nether 
garments,  plunged  him  three  times  under  water.  Then  hold¬ 
ing  his  head  out  of  the  water,  he  asked,  “  Did  you  ever  pray  ?  ” 
“  No,”  was  the  reply.  “  Then  it  is  time  you  should.”  The 
ferry-man  refused,  and  down  went  his  head  under  water, 
and  there  it  was  held  long  enough,  as  Peter  thought,  to  conquer 
his  reluctance.  He  raised  him  up  and  repeated  his  demand. 
“  Let  me  breathe,”  gasped  the  ferry-man.  “  Give  me  a  few  min¬ 
utes  to  think  about  it.”  “  Not  a  moment,”  and  under  went  his 
nead  again.  The  inquiry  was  again  put  when  the  ferry-man’s 
head  was  next  raised,  “  Will  you  pray  now  ?  ”  “Yes,  I’ll  do 
anything,”  and  the  fellow  obediently  repeated  the  Lord’s 
Prayer,  after  the  dictation  of  Cartwright.  “  Now  let  me  up,” 
he  added.  “  No,  not  yet,”  replied  the  inexorable  Peter.  “  You 
must  make  me  three  promises  before  I  let  you  up.  First,  you 
must  promise  to  pray  every  night  and  morning  as  long  as  you 
live ;  then  you  must  promise  to  put  every  Methodist  preacher 
who  comes  along  over  the  river  for  nothing ;  and  lastly,  you 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


895 


must  promise  hereafter  to  attend  every  meeting  of  the  Method¬ 
ists  held  within  four  miles  of  you.”  The  whole  transaction 
took  place  in  full  view  of  the  ferry-man’s  comrades  on  the 
shore,  but  the  intervening  river  insured  “  fair  play,”  and  the 
ferry-man  felt  himself  in  Cartwright’s  hands.  He  promised 
faithfully  to  do  all  that  was  demanded  of  him.* 

Bather  a  remarkable  incident  is  related  of  the  preaching 
of  Dr.  Lyman  Beecher.  Many  years  ago  he  was  engaged 
to  officiate  in  Ohio ;  it  was  in  the  depth  of  winter,  and  the 
roads  were  nearly  impassable  with  snow,  yet  the  doctor  pur¬ 
sued  his  journey,  and,  on  reaching  the  church,  found  not  a 
sinode  individual  there.  With  his  characteristic  decision  of 

O 

purpose  he  ascended  the  pulpit  and  waited  the  arrival  of  his 
congregation.  One  solitary  person  at  length  entered,  and  the 
doctor  commenced  the  service.  At  the  conclusion  he  hast¬ 
ened  to  greet  his  auditor,  but  he  had  vanished.  Some  score 
of  years  subsequently  the  parties  accidentally  met,  when  the 
pleasing  fact  was  communicated  to  the  doctor  that  that  ser¬ 
mon  had  proved  the  means  of  his  conversion,  and  that  he 
had  since  become  himself  a  minister  over  a  large  congrega¬ 
tion. 

Louis  XIV.  said  one  day  to  Massillon,  after  hearing  him 
preach  at  Versailles:  “  Father,  I  have  heard  many  great  ora¬ 
tors  in  this  chapel ;  I  have  been  highly  pleased  with  them  ;  but 
for  you,  whenever  I  hear  you,  I  go  away  displeased  with 
myself,  for  I  see  more  of  my  own  character.”  This  has  been 
considered  the  finest  encomium  ever  bestowed  upon  a 
preacher. 

There  are  many  amusing  things  related  of  the  notorious  ora¬ 
tor,  Henley  :  One  day  at  a  coffee-house  he  met  a  friend,  when 
the  following  dialogue  ensued :  “  Pray  what  has  become  of 


*  Milbum. 


396 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


our  old  friend,  Smith  ?  ”  said  Henley ;  “  I  have  not  seen  him 
for  several  years.”  “  I  really  do  not  know,”  was  the  reply ; 
“  the  last  time  I  heard  of  him  he  was  at  Ceylon,  or  some  of 
our  other  settlements  in  the  West  Indies.”  “  My  good  sir,  in 
one  sentence  there  are  two  mistakes  ;  Ceylon  is  not  one  of  our 
settlements,  and  it  is  situated  in  the  East  Indies,  not  the 
West.”  “  That  I  deny,”  said  the  gentleman,  with  some  heat. 
“  More  shame  for  you,”  responded  Henley.  “  I  will  engage  to 
bring  a  boy  of  eight  years  old  who  will  confute  you.”  “  Well, 
be  it  where  it  may,  thank  God,  I  know  very  little  about  these 
sort  of  things !  ”  “  What !  you  thank  God  for  your  ignorance, 

do  you  \  ”  “I  do,  sir,”  answered  the  gentleman,  in  a  violent 
rage;  “  what  then  ?  ”  “  Sir,  you  have  a  great  deal  to  be  thank¬ 

ful  for,”  was  Henley’s  sarcastic  reply. 

Among  incorrigible  punning  parsons  may  be  named  Dr. 
Barton,  who,  when  the  fellows  of  his  college  wished  to  have  an 
organ  in  the  chapel,  said,  “I  put  a  stop  to  it!”  It  is  said  two 

friends,  Mr.  Crowe  and  Mr.  Rooke,  were  invited  to  dine  with 

«  ' 

him,  where  they  met  with  a  Mr.  Birdmore.  “  Allow  me, 
Crowe  and  Rooke,  to  introduce  to  you  one  Bird  more,”  he  ex¬ 
claimed.  He  married  his  niece  to  a  gentleman  of  the  hope¬ 
ful  name  of  Buckle  :  “  Ah !  ”  he  said,  u  a  pair  of  Buckles.” 

Hearing  that  a  valetudinarian,  wdio  had  recovered  his  health  by 
a  diet  of  milk  and  eggs,  had  espoused  a  wife,  he  is  reported  to 
have  said,  “So  you  have  been  egged  on  to  matrimony;  I  hope 
the  yoke  will  sit  easy  on  you.” 

During  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  it  was  the  fashion  to  in- 
dulge  to  excess  the  habit  of  humorous  preaching.  Sterne 
seems  to  have  revived  the  custom,  and  South’s  discourses 
sparkle  perpetually  with  wit  and  pun. 

Eccentricities  and  angularities  of  character  are  not  excluded 
from  the  clerical  profession  of  modern  times  any  more  than  the 
past.  The  wTell-known  name  of  Rowland  Hill  has  long  been 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


397 


associated  with  pulpit  peculiarities.  This  worthy  ecclesiastic 
was  once  preaching  for  a  charitable  institution,  when  a  note 
was  handed  up  to  the  pulpit  asking  whether  it  would  be  con¬ 
sistent  for  a  bankrupt  to  contribute.  Mr.  Hill  referred  to  the 
note  and,  of  course,  decided  against  such  an  act,  but  added,  “  I 
would  advise  all  who  are  not  insolvent  not  to  pass  the  plate 
without  giving,  lest  they  should  be  considered  bankrupt.  On 
another  occasion,  when  preaching  at  St.  John’s,  Mapping,  he 
said,  “  I  am  come  to  preach  to  great  sinners,  notorious  sinners, 
wapping  sinners.”  One  wet  Sunday  he  noticed  some  persons 
crowding  into  Surrey  Chapel  to  be  sheltered  from  a  shower  of 
rain,  and  he  thus  referred  to  the  circumstance :  “  Some  people 
are  blamed  for  making  religion  a  cloak”  he  said,  “  but  I  do 
not  think  those  are  much  better  who  make  it  an  umbrella.” 
Many  other  stories  told  of  this  remarkable  man  are  fictitious, 
among  them  those  which  reflected  upon  his  wife’s  love  of  dress, 
and  that  of  throwing  liis  Bible  at  a  sleeper. 

A  dissenting  minister  once  complaining  of  the  dealing  he  met 
with  from  an  ecclesiastical  boards  to  Howland  Hill,  observed 
that  “  for  his  part  he  did  not  see  the  difference  between  a 
board  and  a  bench,”  meaning  that  the  rule  of  his  board  was 
as  stringent  as  that  of  the  bishops.  u  Pardon  me,  my  friend,” 
replied  Hill,  “  I  will  show  you  a  most  essential  difference 
between  the  two :  A  board  is  a  bench  that  has  no  legs  to  stand 
upon” 

With  many  strong  points  of  character  he  combined  notions 
prodigiously  odd.  One  of  those  commonly  called  Antinomians 
one  day  called  on  Howland  Hill  to  call  him  to  account  for  his 
too  severe  and  legal  gospel.  “  Do  you,  sir,”  asked  Howland, 
“  hold  the  ten  commandments  to  be  a  rule  of  life  to  Chris¬ 
tians  ?  ”  “  Certainly  not,”  replied  the  visitor.  The  minister 

rang  the  bell,  and  on  the  servant  making  his  appearance,  he 
quietly  added,  “John  show  that  man  the  door,  and  keep  your 


39S 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


eye  on  him  until  lie  is  beyond  the  reach  of  every  article  of 
wearing  apparel  or  other  property  in  the  hall !  ” 

There  is  a  great  difference  between  occasionally  introducing 
an  illustration,  which  may  serve  its  end,  though  slightly  tinc¬ 
tured  with  the  comic,  and  that  depraved  taste  which  would 
desecrate  the  sacred  desk  by  the  exhibitions  of  buffoonery.  A 
minister  should  never  be  insensible  to  the  claims  of  his  mission 
as  it  is  taught  in  that 

“Book,  wherein  his  Saviour’s  Testament, 

Written  with  golden  letters,  rich  and  brave : 

A  work  of  wondrous  grace,  and  able  souls  to  save.  ” 

There  is  a  story  told  of  a  popular  preacher  of  London,  whose 
genius  was  displayed  more  in  reproducing  the  thoughts  and 
words  of  others  than  in  the  use  of  his  own.  His  sermons  were 
replete  with  petty  larcenies :  but  as  fashionable  audiences  are 
not  proverbial  for  proficiency  in  pulpit  lore,  his  ministerial 
misdemeanors  were  for  some  time  carried  on  with  impunity. 
On  on e  occasion,  however,  he  was  detected.  A  grave  old  gentle¬ 
man  well-posted  came  one  Sunday,  and  seating  himself  close  to 
the  pulpit,  enacted  the  inquisitor.  The  preacher  had  scarcely 
finished  his  third  sentence  before  the  stranger  muttered  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  those  near  him,  “  That’s  Sherlock !  ” 
The  preacher  frowned,  but  went  on.  He  was  glibly  proceed¬ 
ing  when  the  tormentor  again  interrupted  him  with,  “  That’s 
Tillotson!”  Our  clerical  plagiarist  bit  his  lip  and  paused, 
but  again  thought  it  better  to  proceed  with  his  discourse.  A 
third  exclamation  of  “  That’s  Blair !  ”  was,  however,  too  much, 
and  completely  exhausted  his  patience.  Leaning  over  the  pul¬ 
pit,  he  said:  “Fellow,  if  you  do  not  hold  your  tongue  you 
shall  be  turned  out !  ”  Without  altering  a  muscle  of  his  coun¬ 
tenance,  the  imperturbable  censor  looked  up  at  the  incumbent 
of  the  pulpit,  and  retorted,  “  That’s  his  own  !  ” 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


399 


A  certain  Yorkshire  clergyman,  who,  when  asked  if  he  stud¬ 
ied  the  fathers  before  he  began  to  write  his  sermons,  said, 
“No,  I  rather  study  the  mothers,  for  they  have  the  greater 
need  of  comfort  and  encouragement.55 

A  clergyman  once  preached  rather  a  long  sermon  from  the 
text,  “  Thou  art  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting.55 
After  the  congregation  had  listened  about  an  hour,  some  began 
to  get  weary  and  went  out ;  others  soon  followed,  greatly  to 
the  annoyance  of  the  minister.  Whereupon  he  stopped  his 
sermon  and  said,  “  That  is  right,  gentlemen ;  as  fast  as  you  are 
weighed  pass  out.55  No  one  else  passed. 

Robert  Hall,  on  one  occasion,  being  disgusted  by  the  egotism 
and  conceit  of  a  preacher,  who,  with  a  mixture  of  self-compla¬ 
cency  and  impudence,  challenged  his  admiration  of  a  sermon, 
was  provoked  to  say,  “  Yes,  there  was  one  very  fine  passage  in 
your  discourse,  sir.55  “  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  you  say  so — which 
was  it  % 55  was  the  reply.  “  Why,  sir,55  said  Hall,  “  it  was  the 
passage  from  the  pulpit  to  the  vestry .” 

Some  divines  are  often  too  deeply  read  in  theology  ^appre¬ 
ciate  the  full  grandeur  and  the'proper  tendencies  of  religion. 
Losing  the  abstract  in  the  concrete,  the  comprehensive  in  the 
technical,  the  principal  in  its  accessories.  Such  are  in  the  pre¬ 
dicament  of  the  rustic  who  could  not  see  London  for  the 
houses. 

Others,  claiming  to  be  religious  teachers  and  superiors,  might 
have  done  better  service  in  a  different  department  of  duty.  A 
dull  and  illiterate  leader  will  produce  his  kind  in  those  over 
wdiom  he  presides,  since  he  but  administers  theological  opiates 
to  them,  confirming  them  in  their  apathy,  ignorance,  and 
bigotry.  How  few  divines  dare  venture  to  become  original ; 
fewer  still  have  we  of  rational  enthusiasts. 

“  How  comes  it,55  demanded  a  bishop,  of  Garrick,  “  that  I,  in 
expounding  divine  doctrines,  produce  so  little  effect  upon  my 


400 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES . 


congregation,  while  you  can  so  easily  rouse  the  passions  of  your 
auditors  by  the  representation  of  fiction  ?  ”  The  answer  was 
short  and  pithy  :  “  Because  I  recite  falsehoods  as  if  they  were 
true,  while  you  deliver  truths  as  if  they  were  fiction.” 

Robert  Ilall,  even,  admitted  that  he  was  tormented  with  the 
desire  of  preaching  better  than  he  did.  He  was  for  greater 
earnestness  and  zeal.  It  was  said  of  Rowland  Hill’s  preach¬ 
ing,  that  his  ideas,  like  Baxter’s,  came  hot  from  the  heart. 
This  is  effective  preaching.  Keble  sweetly  suggests — 

“  Love  on  the  Saviour’s  dying  head. 

Her  spikenard  drops,  unblamed,  may  pour ; 

May  mount  his  cross,  and  wrap  him  dead, 

In  spices  from  the  golden  shore. 

Risen,  may  embalm  his  sacred  name 

With  all  a  painter’s  art,  and  all  a  minstrel’s  flame.” 

Steele  observes :  “  When  a  man  has  no  design  but  to  speak 
plain  truth  he  may  say  a  great  deal  in  a  very  narrow  com¬ 
pass.  The  true  pulpit  style  is  that  which  brings  the  intellect 
down  through  the  heart,  and  melts  all  its  precious  metals  in 
that  glowing  furnace.  Prolixity  in  preaching  is  an  ancient 
heresy  of  the  priesthood.  As  if  conscious  of  this  weakness,  the 
Greek  and  Latin  fathers  used  hour-glasses  in  their  pulpits  to 
admonish  them  when  to  wind  up.  George  Herbert  says:  “The 
parson  exceeds  not  an  hour  in  preaching,  because  all  ages  have 
thought  that  a  competency.”  Southey  cites  a  passage  from 
the  church  records,  in  1564,  of  St.  Catharine’s,  Aldgate,  Lon¬ 
don,  which  is  as  follows:  “Paid  for  an  hour-glass  that  hanged 
by  the  pulpit  when  the  preacher  doth  make  a  sermon,  that  he 
may  know  how  the  hour  passeth  away.”  * 

There  are  few  things  against  which  a  preacher  should  be 
more  guarded  than  prolixity.  “Nothing  can  justify  a  long 
sermon.  If  it  be  a  good  one  it  need  not  be  long ;  and  if  it  be 
a  bad  one  it  ought  not  to  be  long.”  Luther,  in  the  enumera- 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


401 


tion  of  nine  qualities  of  a  good  preacher,  gives  as  the  sixth, 
“  That  he  should  know  when  to  stop.”  Boyle  has  an  essay  on 
patience  under  long  preaching. 

John  Aylmer,  bishop  of  London  in  the  time  of  Queen  Eliza¬ 
beth,  having  a  congregation  not  so  attentive  as  they  ought  to 
have  been,  began  reading  the  Bible  in  the  Hebrew.  The 
strange  sounds  disturbed  the  sleepers,  who  awoke  one  after 
another;  and  when  the  minister  perceived  this,  after  he  ad¬ 
monished  them  for  their  indifference  to  the  Bible  in  the  vul¬ 
gar  tongue,  he  proceeded  with  his  sermon. 

The  sin  of  sleeping  during  divine  service  is  of  no  modern 
date.  In  Henry  VII.’s  Chapel,  Westminster  Abbey,  there  were 
ingeniously  contrived  stalls  for  preventing  the  drowsy  monks 
indulging  a  nap. 

A  celebrated  clergyman  once  told  his  parishioners  he  should 
reserve  the  best  efforts  of  his  mind  for  rainy  days — the  worse 
the  weather  the  better  should  be  his  sermons — and  he  kept  his 
word.  The  consequence  naturally  was  that  his  church  was 
never  so  well  filled  as  in  wet  weather,  and  the  harder  tlTe  rain 
poured  down  the  more  the  people  flocked  in,  until  it  finally 
became  his  practice  to  include  in  his  prayers  rainy  Sundays ! 

A  well-known  clerical  personage  was  on  one  occasion  found 
in  a  pew  instead  of  a  pulpit,  listening  to  a  dull  and  prolix  dis¬ 
course,  when  he  began  to  grow  sleepy.  “  You  were  caught 
napping,”  said  a  friend,  “  and  I  suppose  cannot  tell  me  what 
the  sermon  was  about?”  “Yes  I  can,”  he  replied;  “it  was 
about  an  hour  too  long !  ” 

Dean  Swift,  whom  our  artist  has  so  well  sketched,  once 
preached  at  Dublin  Cathedral,  from  Acts  xx.  9 :  “  And  there  sat 
in  the  window  a  certain  young  man,  named  Eutychus,  being 
fallen  into  a  deep  sleep,”  etc.  “  I  have  chosen  these  words,”  he 
said,  “  with  a  design,  if  possible,  to  disturb  some  part  of  this 
audience  of  half  an  hour’s  sleep ;  for  the  convenience  and 


402 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


exercise  whereof  this  place,  at  this  season  of  the  day,  is  very 
much  celebrated.  The  accident  which  happened  to  the  young 
man  in  the  text  hath  not  been  sufficient  to  discourage  his  suc¬ 
cessors  ;  but  because  the  preachers  now  in  the  world,  however 
they  may  exceed  Paul  in  the  art  of  setting  men  to  sleep,  do 
extremely  fall  short  of  him  in  the  working  of  miracles,  there¬ 
fore  men  are  become  so  cautious  as  to  choose  more  safe  and 
convenient  stations  and  postures  for  taking  their  repose,  with¬ 
out  hazard  of  their  persons,  and  upon  the  whole  matter  choose 
rather  to  trust  their  destruction  to  a  miracle  than  their  safety.” 

Robert  Hall’s  afternoon  sermons — masterty  as  they  were — 
were  attended  by  a  very  small  yet  appreciative  audience,  which 
he  once  described  as  consisting  equally  of  those  who  were 
asleep  and  those  who  were  going  to  sleep  ! 

Sydney  Smith  once  said,  in  speaking  of  the  prosy  nature  of 
some  sermons,  “  they  are  written,  as  if  sin  were  to  be  taken  out 
of  man,  like  Eve  out  of  Adam — by  putting  him  to  sleep.” 

Dr.  Barrow  once  preached  so  long  that  all  his  congregation 
dropped  off,  leaving  the  sexton  and  himself  alone.  The  sexton 
finding  the  doctor  apparently  no  nearer  a  conclusion,  said  to 
him,  “Sir,  here  are  the  keys;  please  to  lock  up  the  church 
when  you  get  through  your  discourse.” 

A  somewhat  peculiar  expedient  was  adopted  by  a  minister 
in  Hew  York,  some  years  since,  while  holding  forth  to  his  con¬ 
gregation  in  a  style  that  ought  to  have  kept  them  awake. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  in  his  discourse,  and  said,  “  Brethren,  I 
have  preached  about  half  of  my  sermon,  and  I  perceive  that 
twenty-five  or  thirty  of  my  congregation  are  fast  asleep.  I 
shall  postpone  the  delivery  of  the  remainder  of  it  until  they 
wake  up  !  ”  There  was  a  dead  pause  for  about  five  minutes, 
during  which  time  the  sleepers  awoke,  when  the  preacher 
resumed.  Another  instance  might  be  cited  which  proved  no 
less  effective.  A  worthy  divine,  in  a  church  at  Norwich, 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES.  403 

< 

Connecticut,  observing  many  sleeping,  paused  awhile  and  then 
said,  “  I  come  now  to  the  third  head  of  my  discourse,  to  which 
I  ask  the  serious  and  candid  attention  of  all  who  are  not  asleep” 
emphasizing  the  last  word. 

“  Benevolence,”  said  Sydney  Smith,  in  a  charity  sermon, 
“  is  a  sentiment  common  to  human  nature.  A  never  sees  B 
in  distress  without  wishing  C  to  relieve  him.” 

Once  when  preaching  a  charity  sermon,  he  repeated  the 
assertion  that,  of  all  nations,  Englishmen  were  most  distin¬ 
guished  for  generosity  and  the  love  of  their  species.  The 
collection  happening  to  be  inferior  to  his  expectations,  he 
said  that  he  had  evidently  made  a  great  mistake,  for  that  his 
expression  should  have  been  that  they  were  distinguished  for 
the  love  of  their  specie. 

Franklin,  in  his  “  Memoirs,”  bears  witness  to  the  extraordinary 
effect  which  was  produced  by  Whitefield’s  preaching  in  Amer¬ 
ica,  and  relates  an  anecdote  equally  characteristic  of  the 
preacher  and  of  himself.  “I  happened,”  he  says,  “to  attend 
one  of  his  sermons,  in  the  course  of  which  I  perceived  he 
intended  to  finish  with  a  collection,  and  I  silently  resolved  he 
should  get  nothing  from  me.  I  had  in  my  pocket  a*handful 
of  copper  money,  three  or  four  silver  dollars,  and  five  pistoles 
in  gold.  As  he  proceeded  I  began  to  soften,  and  concluded  to 
give  the  copper.  Another  stroke  of  his  oratory  made  me 
ashamed  of  that,  and  determined  me  to  give  the  silver  ;  and 
he  finished  so  admirably  that  I  emptied  my  pocket  wholly 
into  the  collector’s  dish,  gold  and  all.” 

We  have  referred  to  prolix  preachers  and  jocular  preachers, 
as  well  as  drowsy  congregations ;  but  we  have  not  alluded  to 
one  of  the  modern  clerical  innovations,  whose  aim  it  is  to  su¬ 
persede  the  simplicity  and  integrity  of  Divine  worship.  We 
refer  to  the  Ritualistic  party  in  the  Episcopal  Church,  which 
Punch  portrays  as,  Latitudinarians ,  Platitudinarians ,  and 


404 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


Attitudinarians  !  The  same  authority  also  points  these  perti¬ 
nent  questions : 

4  4  Friend  Ritualist,  how  can  a  cope 
Encourage  any  Christian  hope  ? 

And  what  advantage  hath  a  stole 
To  render  his  immortal  soul  ? 

Aught  can  a  chasuble  conduce 
To  any  spiritual  use  ? 

In  what  way  can  an  alb  relate 
To  anybody’s  future  state 
Or  Dalmatics  concern  hereafter  ? 

No  more  expose  thyself  to  laughter.” 

Sydney  Smith  said :  “  Puseyism  consists  of  inflections  and 
genuflections,  posture  and  imposture,  bowing  to  the  east  and 
curtesying  to  the  west.’5 

Dean  Swift  has  the  following  pointed  remarks  about  absen¬ 
tees  from  church  :  “  There  is  no  excuse  so  trivial  that  will  not 

pass  upon  some  men’s  consciences,  to  excuse  their  attendance 
at  the  public  worship  of  God.  Some  are  so  unfortunate  as  to 
be  always  indisposed  on  the  Lord’s  day,  and  think  nothing  so 
unwholesome  as  the*  air  of  a  church.  Others  have  their  affairs 
so  oddly  contrived  as  to  be  always  unluckily  prevented  by  busi¬ 
ness.  With  some  it  is  a  great  mark  of  wit  and  deep  under¬ 
standing  to  stay  at  home  on  Sabbath.  Others  again  discover 
strange  fits  of  laziness,  which  seize  them  particularly  on  that 
day  and  confine  them  to  their  beds.  Others  are  absent  out  of 
mere  contempt  for  religion.  And,  lastly,  there  are  not  a  few 
who  look  upon  it  as  a  day  of  rest ;  therefore  claim  the  privilege 
of  their  cattle  to  keep  the  Sabbath  by  eating,  drinking,  and 
sleeping,  after  the  toil  and  labor  of  the  week.” 

Coleridge,  referring  to  the  theological  literature  of  the  sev¬ 
enteenth  century,  asserts  it  as  his  conviction  “  that  in  any  half 
dozen  sermons  of  Donne  or  Taylor  there  are  more  thoughts, 
more  facts  and  images,  more  incitements  to  inquiry  and  intel- 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


405 


lectual  effort,  than  are  presented  to  the  congregations  of  our 
day  in  as  many  churches  or  meetings  during  twice  as  many 
months.  The  very  length  of  the  discourses  with  which  these 
rich  souls  of  wit  and  knowledge  fixed  the  eyes,  ears,  and  hearts 
of  their  crowded  congregations  are  a  source  of  wonder  to  us. 

The  pulpit  may  be  styled  the  palladium  of  the  world’s  vir¬ 
tue — the  conservator  of  its  liberties,  the  panacea  for  its  woes, 
and  the  prophecy  of  its  future  restoration  and  glory.  Its  pre¬ 
rogative  is  to  exert  a  paramount  power  over  the  human  heart. 
Its  themes  are  sublime  and  momentous — the  arcana  of  science 
are  rendered  tributary  to  its  teachings,  because  the  works  illus¬ 
trate  the  Will  of  the  Supreme.  This  mission  of  the  gospel  it 
was  that  fired  the  zeal  of  that  worthy  of  old,  whose  eloquent 
appeals  “  shook  Areopagus  and  reverberated  through  the  Fo¬ 
rum.” 

“  The  Christian  priesthood,  although  the  temptation  incident 
to  conventional  elevation  may  have  served  to  develop  among 
them  many  of  the  subtler  forms  of  evil  latent  in  the  undisci¬ 
plined  heart,  is  yet  lustrous  with  many  virtues.  What  sweet¬ 
ness  has  baptized  the  clerical  function  in  the  past !  What  for¬ 
titude,  what  self-denial,  what  patience,  what  labor  in  season  and 
out  of  season,  have  been  the  heritage  of  the  great  mass  of  these 
men  !  What  stores  of  learning  have  they  accumulated ;  what 
splendid  additions  have  they  made  to  the  best  literature  of 
every  land  ;  how  they  have  enriched  the  sciences  by  their  ob¬ 
servation  and  studious  inquiries  ;  how  they  have  kept  the  flame 
of  patriotism  aglow ;  how  they  have  encouraged  the  generous 
ambition  of  youth  and  directed  it  to  worthy  and  useful  ends  ; 
how  they  have  dignified  the  family  altar  and  cherished  the 
purity  of  women  and  diffused  through  society  the  charm  of 
honest  and  gentle  manners  ;  all  these  things  must  be  cordially 
acknowledged  by  every  one  competent  to  speak  on  the  ques¬ 
tion.”  This  tribute  to  the  pulpit  is  by  Dr.  Chapin. 


406 


PULPIT  PECULIARITIES. 


• 

“  Keligion,”  said  Webster,  “  is  the  tie  that  connects  man  with 
his  Maker  and  holds  him  to  His  throne.  A  man  with  no  sense 
of  religious  duty  is  he  whom  the  Scriptures  describe  in  such 
terse  but  terrific  language,  as  living  4  without  God  in  the 
world.5  55 

“  Come,  blest  religion,  then,  and  with  thee  bring 
Peace  on  thy  smile,  and  healing  on  thy  wing.” 


b 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


“  The  love 

Of  mighty  minds  doth  hallow,  in  the  core 
Of  human  hearts,  the  ruin  of  a  wall 
Where  dwelt  the  wise  and  wondrous.” — Byron. 

There  is  a  low-roofed,  antique  room  belonging  to  an  old  pile, 
situated  in  the  very  heart  of  old  England,  to  which  multitudes 
of  pilgrim  feet  are  ever  tending  from  all  parts  of  the  civilized 
globe.  Among  these  spell-bound  hosts  are  most  of  the  illustri¬ 
ous  sons  of  science  and  song,  seeking  to  do  homage  at  that  hum¬ 
ble  homestead,  as  though  it  were  the  “  Mecca  of  the  Mind,”  the 
great  central  shrine  of  genius  ;  and  such  indeed  it  really  is !  It 
is  now  nearly  three  centuries  since  that  great  literary  luminary 

that  first  dawned  upon  us  there,  left  the  sphere  of  earth  ;  and 

♦ 

yet  such  is  the  spell  of  his  transcendent  genius  that  his  name 
and  fame  shed  a  greater  intellectual  glory  to-day  over  the  world 


f 


9 


408 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


than  ever  they  have  done  before !  A  rudely  painted  sign-board 
projects  from  the  front  of  that  small,  mean-looking  edifice  to 
tell  us  that  the  immortal  Shakespeare  was  born  there.  The 
walls  of  the  room  of  his  nativity  are  so  closely  covered  over 
with  names  and  inscriptions,  in  almost  every  language,  as  to  re¬ 
semble  at  a  distance  spiders’  webs.  On  the  memorable  twenty- 
third  of  April,  1616,  the  poet  was  left  sleeping,  as  to  his  mortal 
part,  in  the  church  which  had  witnessed  his  baptism  and  his 
marriage.  The  closing  scene  of  his  own  life-$rama  claims  for 
us  a  deeper  and  more  touching  interest  than  that  of  any  of  those 
renowned  creations  of  his  genius  that  so  charm  the  world. 
Washington  Irving  thus  beautifully  describes  the  grave  of 
Shakespeare :  “  The  inscription  on  the  tombstone  has  not  been,” 
he  remarks,  “  without  its  effect ;  it  has  prevented  the  removal 
of  his  remains  from  the  bosom  of  his  native  place  to  Westmin¬ 
ster  Abbey,  which  was  at  one  time  contemplated.  A  few  years 
since,  as  some  laborers  were  digging  to  make  an  adjoining 
vault,  the  earth  caved  in  so  as  to  leave  a  vacant  space  almost 
like  an  arch,  through  which  one  might  have  reached  into  his 
grave.  No  one,  however,  presumed  to  meddle  with  his  remains, 
so  awfully  guarded  by  a  malediction ;  and  lest  any  of  the  idle 
or  curious,  or  any  collector  of  relics,  should  be  tempted  to  commit 
depredations,  the  old  sexton  kept  watch  over  the  place  for  two 
days  until  the  vault  was  finished  and  the  aperture  closed  again. 
He  told  me  that  he  had  made  bold  to  look  in  at  the  hole,  but 
could  see  nothing  but  dust !  It  was  something,  I  thought,  to 
have  seen  the  dust  of  Shakespeare  !  ”  In  the  chancel  of  Strat¬ 
ford  Church  are  Shakespeare’s  monumental  bust  and  grave, 
already  noted ;  near  by  are  also  the  house  of  Anne  Hathaway, 
the  lady  of  his  love,  and  the  fine  old  historic  relic  of  feudal  and 
Elizabethan  times,  Kenilworth  Castle;  triple  attractions,  either 
of  which,  one  would  suppose,  were  sufficient  to  stir  the  dullest 
spirits  to  enthusiasm  and  pilgrimage.  It  is  a  grateful  fact  to 


THE  SHRIKES  OF  GENIUS. 


409 


note,  that  this  Shakespearian  shrine  is  to  be  guarded  henceforth 
with  a  religious  care;  for  had  it  not  been  purchased  by  the 
Shakespearian  Society  of  London,  the  destroying  touch  of  Time 
would  otherwise  have  soon  made  it  his  prey.  Pilgrimages  have 
ever  been  made  to  the  shrines  of  those  who  have  filled  the 

a 

world  with  their  fame.  Not  alone  do  men  make  toilsome  pil¬ 
grimage  to  the  sacred  sites  of  Palestine,  once  hallowed  by  the 
presence  of  “  Divinity  veiled  in  humanity ;  ”  or  the  devotees 
of  Mahomet  make  their  annual  visit  to  Mecca ;  there  are  yet 
greater  multitudes  who  love  to  do  honor  to  the  memory  of  the 
good  and  great  among  men — such  as,  having  enriched  our 
earthly  life  by  the  ministry  of  song  or  the  revelations  of  sci¬ 
ence,  or  in  some  other  forms,  have  become  the  benefactors  of 
the  race,  and  beautified  and  glorified  our  human  existence.  If 
we  refer  to  the  ancient  world,  think  of  Babylon,  Nineveh, 
Baalbec,  Egypt,  and  Holy  Land.  Who,  visiting  the  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean,  does  not  gaze  with  peculiar  interest  upon  the 
spots  made  memorable  by  the  pens  of  the  classic  authors? 
Who,  when  passing  through  the  meadows  of  Mantua,  or  amid 
the  groves  of  Umbria,  or  on  the  rocky  heights  of  Tivoli,  does 
not  recall  the  glowing  pages  of  Horace,  Virgil,  and  Tibullus  • 
He,  indeed,  is  little  to  be  envied,  who  can  traverse  the  plain  of 
Marathon  or  the  pass  of  Thermopylae  unmoved.  Who  can 
wander  with  Byron  amid  the  ruins  of  the  Forum  or  the 
Coliseum,  and  not  feel  his  heart  stirred  to  its  depths  with  the 
clustered  memories  of  the  past  ?  Think  of  Florence,  of  Venice, 
and  the  manifold  historic  and  literary  memorials  of  France, 
Spain,  Belgium,  and  Germany,  with  its  glorious.  Bhine.  Nor 
forget  the  storied  castles,  homes,  and  abbeys  of  Old  England 
and  Scotland  in  the  days  of  their  ancient  chivalry.  It  is  not  our 
purpose  to  make  an  imaginative  tour  to  the  historic  sites  and 
shrines  of  the  world,  but  merely  to  instance  the  more  interesting 
of  the  literary  localities  of  the  land  of  Shakespeare. 


I 


410  THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 

IIow  potent  is  the  influence  of  association.  The  home  of 
childhood — however  humble — becomes  invested  wflth  a  thou¬ 
sand  endearing  charms,  which  cluster  around  the  heart  with 
sweet  and  enduring  tenacity,  compared  with  which  the  most 
ravishing  beauties  of  nature  or  glittering  blandishments  of  art 
lose  all  their  witchery  and  force.  This  feeling,  which  seems 
closely  allied  to  that  of  consanguinity,  love,  or  friendship, 
transfers  itself  to  inanimate  objects,  times,  and  places,  which 
the  presence  of  those  once  loved  or  venerated  may  have  hal¬ 
lowed  ;  thus  transforming  them  into  sainted  shrines,  at  which 
memory  loves  to  be  the  devoted  worshipper.  Everything  con¬ 
nected  with  the  children  of  genius  awakens  our  sympathy — 
the  places  where  they  have  dwelt  and  labored  in  thought,  which 
have  witnessed  their  sufferings  and  mental  anguish  and  given 
birth  to  the  brilliant  creations  of  intellect,  acquire  a  sacredness 
and  an  interest  unknown  to  any  other. 

‘  ‘  More  sweet  than  odors  caught  by  him  who  sails 
Near  spicy  shores  of  Araby  the  blest, — 

A  thousand  times  more  exquisitely  sweet 
The  freight  of  holy  feeling  which  we  meet 
In  thoughtful  moments,  wafted  on  the  gales 

From  fields  where  good  men  walk,  or  bowers  wherein  they  rest.”  * 

It  is  a  noteworthy  fact,  that  men  of  genius  have  usually — 
seemingly  in  accordance  with  their  lofty,  sky-ward  aspirations 
— produced  their  first  akd  greatest  wTorks  in  a  garret !  Gold¬ 
smith,  with  a  host  of  others  known  to  fame,  being  in  evi¬ 
dence.  The  reader  will  think  kindlier  of  these  obscure  places 
as  he  recalls  Johnson’s  fine  reflections  on  local  associations ; 
when  the  scenes  we  visit  suggest  the  men  or  the  deeds  which 
have  left  their  celebrity  to  the  spot.  IVe  are  in  the  presence  of 
their  fame  and  feel  its  influence  ! 

It  was  with  this  feeling  that  Pope,  one  day,  meeting  with  a 


*  Wordsworth. 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


411 


friend  in  the  Ilaymarket  desired  him  to  enter  a  little  shop, 
where,  going  up  three  pair  of  stairs  into  a  small  room,  the  poet 
said,  “  In  this  garret  Addison  wrote.”  We  can  hardly  venture  to 
travel  out  of  the  domain  of  our  English  literature  in  search  of 
these  cherished  memorials,  or  we  might  refer  to  the  house  of 
Rubens  at  Antwerp,  and  that  of  Michael  Angelo  and  also  the 
decorated  memorial  of  Galileo ,  near  Florence. 

Ho  matter  how  rude  and  unattractive  may  be  the  spot,  if  but 
the  light  of  genius  has  glorified  it,  it  becomes  henceforth  a  sa¬ 
cred  shrine.  Greece,  with  all  her  classic  glory,  is  to  the  stu¬ 
dent  doubly  endeared  because  Homer,  'Plato,  and  Phidias 
were  among  the  nobles  of  her  soil.  And  great  as  were  the  im¬ 
perial  splendors  of  her  Caesars,  Italy  derives  yet  greater  lus¬ 
tre  from  the  imperishable  names  of  Raphael,  Titian,  and  Mi¬ 
chael  Angelo,  in  painting;  and  from  Cicero, Virgil,  Dante,  Tasso, 
Petrarch,  and  Ariosto,  in  song.  And  in  our  own  day  the  same 
is  no  less  true  :  we  instinctively  think  of  Stratford,  as  the  home 
of  Shakespeare  ;  of  Abbotsford,  as  that  of  Scott ;  and  of  Mossgiel, 
as  that  of  the  peasant-poet  of  Scotland.  The  Kingdom  of  Mind 
is  the  true  sovereignty ;  and  such  is  the  loyal  tribute  paid  to  it 
in  all  ages  and  climes.  Most  of  the  literary  magnates  of  the 
Elizabethan  age  were  accustomed  to  congregate  at  inns  and 
hostelries — the  Mitre,  the  Mermaid,  and  others,  in  the  nooks 
and  corners  of  old  London.  It  was  at  the  Mitre  tavern  that 
Johnson  imbibed  his  port,  and  Boswell  chronicled  his  patron’s 
oracular  wisdom.  And  on  the  opposite  side  of  Fleet  street,  at 
No.  8  in  Bolt  Court,  the  great  lexicographer  lived  and  died, 
after  leaving  Gough  square,  where  he  lost  his  wife.  The 
house  no  longer  exists.  Johnson’s  intemperate  taste  for  tea 
is  well  known  :  and  it  is  on  record  that  a  lady  on  one  occasion 
poured  out  for  him  seventeen  cups ;  the  cups  were  small,  how- 


*  Mark- Leman. 


412 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


ever.*  The  “  Rainbow,”  formerly  called  the  “ Devil”  tavern, 
facing  Chancery  lane,  was  the  rendezvous  of  Shakespeare,  and 
Ben  Jonson  with  his  boon  companions  in  hilarious  mirth.  Here, 
and  at  the  Mermaid  also,  might  have  been  seen  Raleigh,  Spen¬ 
ser,  Sydney,  Pope,  Addison,  Swift,  and  others  of  their  class 
and  time.  At  Ho.  3  Ivy  lane,  leading  to  the  great  book  mart, 
Paternoster  row,  there  was  formerly  a  tavern,  frequented  by 
the  literati  of  those  days,  where,  according  to  the  Spectator , 
“  was  held  the  Humdrum  Club ,  who  used  to  sit  together,  smoke 
their  pipes,  and  say  nothing  till  midnight.”  Franklin  worked 
at  Wall’s  Printing-house  in  1725,  situated  in  Portugal  street, 
Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields ;  he  lodged  at  a  house  facing  the  Catho¬ 
lic  chapel,  in  Duke  street. 

Milton  was  born  in  Bread  street,  Cheapside :  the  house  was 
burned  in  the  fire  of  London.  The  house  in  which  Milton  re¬ 
sided  between  the  years  1651  and  1659  existed  only  a  few  years 
back,  at  Ho.  18  York  street,  Westminster.  Chalfont,  in  Buck¬ 
inghamshire,  was  another  residence  of  Milton,  in  which  he 
composed  “  Paradise  Regained.”  The  mulberry-tree  planted 
by  Milton  is  still  flourishing  in  the  pleasant  garden  of  Christ’s 
College,  Cambridge,  where  it  was  planted  by  the  youthful 
student.  Its  fertility  appeared  to  have  undergone  no  change ; 
in  the  summer  of  1835  it  was  laden  with  fruit. 

The  birthplace  of  “  Paradise  Lost  ”  was  at  a  house  in  Hol- 
born  that  looked  into  “Red  Lion  Fields”  (now  Red  Lion 
square).  In  that  dim,  obscure  spot  was  born  the  noble  Eng¬ 
lish  epic. 

“Pope’s  house  at  Binfield  has  been  pulled  down,  but  the  poet’s 
parlor  still  exists  as  a  part  of  the  present  mansion  erected  on 
the  spot.  A  patch  of  the  great  forest,  near  Binfield,  has  been 
honorably  preserved,  under  the  name  of  Pope’s  Wood.  His 
house  at  Twickenham  is  gone,  the  garden  is  bare,  but  the  cele- 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


413 


brated  grotto  remains,  stript,  however,  of  all  that  gave  it  pic- 
turesqueness,  grace,  and  beauty. 

“  Cowper’s  house,  at  Olney,  is  still  standing  in  the  same  ru¬ 
inous  state  so  humorously  described  by  the  poet ;  his  parlor  is 
occupied  as  a  girl’s  school.  The  summer  house  in  the  garden, 
in  which  he  used  to  sit  conning  his  verses,  also  remains,  its 
walls  covered  with  visitors’  names.  His  residence  in  the  neigh¬ 
boring  village  of  Weston  has  been  much  altered,  but  is  still 

O  cj  / 

beautiful,  with  a  profusion  of  roses  about  it.” 

The  Borough  of  Southwark,  south  of  the  Thames,  is  mem¬ 
orable  for  its  Tabard ,  the  hostlerie  of  Chaucer’s  “  Canter¬ 
bury  Pilgrims,”  and  the  wits  of  the  olden  time ;  although 
little  if  any  of  the  old  building  now  exists.  In  its  precincts  once 
stood  the  well-remembered  Globe  theatre,  of  which  Shake¬ 
speare  was  at  one  time  proprietor.  Shakespeare’s  first  appear- 
* 

ance  in  public  was  as  an  attendant  at  the  door  of  this  theatre, 
which  stood  near  Bankside.  Bankside  is  also  full  of  interest, 
from  the  fact  of  its  being  the  spot  where  the  great  dramatist 
lived  during  his  stav  in  London.  Hear  the  Globe  were  the 
Bear  Gardens,  where  Elizabeth,  her  nobles  and  ladies,  used  to 
solace  their  tender  sensibilities  with  the  elegant  sport  of  bear¬ 
hunting.  Two  other  early  dramatists,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
also  lived  near  neighbors  with  the  great  dramatist.  The  mortal 
remains  of  Fletcher  and  Massinger  rest  within  the  time-honored 
walls  of  St.  Saviour’s. 

“  Our  cathedrals  and  old  churches,”  observes  Willmott,  “  gray 
with  the  rust  of  centuries,  speak  to  the  ■  heart  through  the  eye. 
Death  is  never  unlovely,  but  meets  us  with  the  Gospel  upon  his 
lips  and  the  garland  of  hope  upon  his  forehead.  Addison 
might  well  delight  to  pass  an  afternoon  among  the  tombs  of 
Westminster  Abbey.  The  truest  and  most  cheering  eloquence 
speaks  from  the  grave  of  piety.  The  white  marble  monument 
of  William  of  Wykeham  is  a  livelier  exhortation  to  Christian 


414 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


benevolence  than  a  philosophic  treatise  upon  generosity.  If  we 
delight  to  keep  green  the  graves  of  our  poets,  who  have  be¬ 
guiled  with  their  music  the  sorrows  of  life,  our  feelings  become 
enlivened  by  purer  elevation  when  lingering  by  the  sepulchres 
of  those  who  have  ministered  to  us  of  the  oracles  of  heavenly 
wisdom.  We  call  to  mind  their  hallowed  example  of  holy  liv¬ 
ing — their  illuminated  wisdom,  their  chastened  temper,  and 
their  serene  and  happy  exit  from  a  life  of  sorrow  and  self-de¬ 
nial,  which  was  to  them  “  a  baptism  unto  immortality.” 

_  *  • 

Among  the  proud  temples  of  Fame,  the  grand  old  Abbey  of 
Westminster  stands  pre-eminent,  with  its  clustered  glories  of 
gloomy,  regal  pomp  and  splendor.  Westminster  Abbey  is  it¬ 
self  a  vast  mausoleum,  enriched  with  the  proudest  spoils  of  the 
Destroyer.  Here  repose  the  ashes  of  potentates  and  poets,  he¬ 
roes  and  historians,  martyrs  and  confessors.  The  very  walls  are 
histories,  illustrated  by  monumental  bust  and  sculptured  shrine. 
In  the  “  Poets’  Corner  ”  sleep  the  remains  of  England’s  great¬ 
est  bards — from  Chaucer  to  Campbell ;  of  Ben  Jonson  and  the 
Elizabethan  dramatists  ;  and  of  Addison  and  the  essayists  and 
philosophers.  Here,  too,  is  that  marvel  of  sculptured  skill — 
Henry  the  Seventh’s  Chapel ;  with  its  gorgeously  fretted  pend¬ 
ants  and  vaulted  ceiling ;  its  knightly  bannerets,  and  last,  but  not 
least,  the  sumptuous  tomb  of  the  founder,  and  those  of  the 
rival  queens — Elizabeth  and  Mary  Stuart — now  at  peace — side ' 
by  side ! 

Henry  the  Seventh’s  magnificent  tomb  was  rivalled  by  the 
grand  mausoleum  of  Halicarnassus,  one  of  the  seven  wonders 
of  the  world,  which,  however,  in  the  twelfth  century,  being 
overthrown  by  an  earthquake,  became  a  mass  of  ruins. 

At  Agra,  Northern  Hindostan,  is  that  marvel  of  eastern  splen¬ 
dor,  the  Taj  Mahal,  the  chef-d'oeuvre  of  Saracenic  art.  This 
superb  specimen  of  Oriental  splendor  was  erected  by  the  Em¬ 
peror  Shah  Jehan,  as  a  mausoleum  for  his  deceased  wife.  It 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIES. 


415 


is  said  to  have  cost  a  fabulous  sum,  equal  to  nearly  sixteen  mil¬ 
lions  of  dollars.  What  illustrious  vanity !  “  All  the  greatness, 

the  pride,  the  cruelty,  and  the  ambition  of  man,”  said  one  who 
knew  how  little  worth  were  worldly  honors,*  “  are  covered  over 
by  death  with  these  two  narrow  words — Hie  Jacet!  ” 

The  poets  whose  lyres  are  now  all  unstrung  have  still  be¬ 
queathed  to  us  the  rich  legacy  of  their  sweet  songs,  which,  like 
the  music  of  the  sylvan  streams  they  loved  so  well,  are  ever 
charming  us  with  their  melody. 

Westminster  Abbey  boasts  its  “  Poets’  Corner”  and  St.  Paul’s 
has  its  “  Painters’  Corner  ”  ;  for  here  in  the  crypt  of  the  cathe¬ 
dral  rest  the  remains  of  England’s  great  painters — Reynolds, 
Lawrence  Barry,  Opie,  West,  Fuseli,  and  Turner.  In  Kensall 
Green  Cemetery  repose  the  ashes  of  a  multitude  of  eminent 
characters,  including  Sydney  Smith,  Allan  Cunningham,  Thack¬ 
eray,  and  Kemble ;  and  in  Norwood  Cemetery,  among  many 
other  celebrities,  Talfourd  and  Douglas  Jerrold.  Adieu,  then, 
and  peace  to  these  gifted  sons  of  genius ;  theirs  is  an  immortality 
of  fame  ;  for  the  world  has  indeed  been  enriched  by  their  hav¬ 
ing  passed  a  brief  lifetime  in  it.  Of  how  much  of  sorrow  have 
they  beguiled  us,  what  lessons  of  wisdom  have  they  not  taught 
us  by  their  bright  visions  of  spiritual  beauty  and  cherished  hopes 
of  a  life  beyond. 

Then  there  are  other  shrines  of  memory :  W aller,  in  Bea- 
consfield  churchyard  ;  Butler,  in  St.  Paul’s,  Covent  Garden ; 
Young,  at  Welwyn  in  Hertfordshire  ;  Burns,  in  St.  Michael’s, 
Dumfries  ;  Byron,  in  the  church  of  Ilucknall,  near  Newstead ; 
Crabbe,  at  Trowbridge  ;  Scott,  at  Dryburgh  Abbey ;  Southey,  in 
Crosth waite  church,  near  Keswick;  and  Wordsworth,  in  the 
churchyard  at  Grasmere,  hard  by  the  lake  he  so  loved. 

Dryden’s  house  was  in  Fetter  lane,  London  ;  the  stately  old 


*  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 


416 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


building  was  noticeable  by  its  two  grim-looking  lions  in  stone, 
over  the  door. 

Goldsmith  has  hallowed  a  dingy  spot  in  London  by  his  resi¬ 
dence  there ;  it  is  called  Green  Arbor  Court,  Old  Bailey.  Here 
Oliver  resided  in  the  outset  of  his  career,  ere  his  fame  dawned 
upon  the  world  ;  and  here  he  wrote  those  amusing  papers,  which 
were  afterwards  collected  under  the  title  of  “  The  Citizen  of 
the  World.”  The  author  was  writing  in  a  wretched,  dirty 
room,  in  which  there  was  but  one  chair ;  and  when  he,  from 
civility,  offered  it  to  his  visitors,  he  himself  was  obliged  to  sit  in 
the  window.  This  house  was  the  last  in  the  alley,  looking  on 
a  descent  known  by  the  name  of  “  Breakneck-stairs.” 

East  Smithtield  was  the  birthplace  of  that  rare  poet  of  the 
elder  school,  Spenser.  The  checkered  career  of  the  gentle  au¬ 
thor  of  the  Faerie  Queene  is  familiar  to  the  reader — his  resi¬ 
dence,  Kilcolman  Castle,  Ireland — its  beiug  fired  by  the  pop¬ 
ulace  —  his  return  to  England  —  poverty  and  disasters,  and 
subsequent  death,  in  an  obscure  lodging-house  in  King  street, 
Westminster.  His  death  was  more  honored  than  his  life  ;  for, 
says  Camden,  “his  hearse  was  attended  by  poets ;  and  mournful 
elegies  and  poems,  with  the  pens  that  wrote  them,  were  thrown 
into  his  tomb,  in  Westminster  Abbey.” 

Lord  Bacon  has  bequeathed  the  memory  of  his  noble  genius 
to  Grav’s  Inn,  where  he  lived  and  wrote.  The  corner  of  Fleet 
street  and  Chancery  lane  witnessed  the  advent  of  the  poet 
Cowley.  Two  renowned  painters,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and 
Hogarth,  immortalized  their  art  in  Leicester  square,  at  the 
house  since  called  the  Sabloniere  Hotel. 

Byron  was  born  in  Holies  street,  Cavendish  square.  He 
wrote  his  “  Siege  of  Corinth  ”  in  a  house  in  Piccadilly,  opposite 
the  Green  Park.  Most  of  his  productions  were  composed  in 
Greece  and  other  parts  of  the  Continent. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  aerial  abodes,  already  referred  to,  that 


417 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 

Butler  wrote  liis  “  Hudibras,”  which,  while  it  contributed  to  the 
convulsive  merriment  of  the  court  and  all  classes  of  readers, 
left  its  ill-fated  author  to  pine  under  the  inconvenient  prospect 
of  starvation. 

It  is  grateful  to  reflect,  however,  that  all  are  not  found  dom¬ 
iciled  in  these  upper  regions.  Some,  on  the  contrary,  moved 
not  in  the  upper  stories,  but  among  the  upper  circles  of  society  ; 
such  as  Pliny,  in  early  times,  and  Yoltaire,  Pope,  Bogers,  and 
others,  among  the  moderns.  Others,  again,  have  appeared 
under  the  most  obscure  circumstances  and  bounded  into  noto¬ 
riety  by  the  force  of  their  genius.  Of  this  class  we  might 
mention  Keats,  the  most  “  poetical  of  poets,”  who  was  born  in 
a  stable  at  Moorfields,  London. 

Let  us  pay  the  passing  tribute  of  sympathy  at  that  shrine  of 
suffering  genius,  the  last  abode  of  poor  Chatterton,  whom 
Wordsworth  describes  as  “the  sleepless  boy  who  perished  in  his 
pride  !  ”  After  enduring  the  pangs  of  mortal  hunger  for  three 
days  he  destroyed  himself,  in  an  obscure  house  in  Brooke  street, 
Holborn.  At  Bristol  Cathedral  there  is  a  beautiful  monument 
to  his  memory;  another  illustration  of  the  sad  neglect  with 
which  the  children  of  genius  are  suffered  to  pass  away  from 
among  us  :  they  ask  bread  and  we  give  them — a  stone  ! 

In  Salisbury  Court  lived  Thomas  Sackvill,  Earl  of  Dorset, 
the  precursor  of  Spenser.  Here  also  resided  Bichardson,  where 
he  kept  his  printing-office.  The  Temple  is  eminently  classic 
in  its  associations.  Crown-office  Bow,  Temple,  was  the  birth¬ 
place  of  Charles  Lamb  :  he  styles  it  in*  his  “  Elia  ” — “  Cheer¬ 
ful  Crown-office  Bow,  place  of  my  kindly  engender.”  Many 
illustrious  names  cluster  about  these  antique  buildings,  such  as 
Baleigh,  Selden,  Clarendon,  Congreve,  Wycherly,  Fielding, 
Burke,  Johnson,  Cowper,  Bo  we,  Beaumont,  Ford,  and  Gold¬ 
smith,  who  had  chambers  here. 

Addison,  it  will  be  remembered,  lived  and  died  at  Holland 
27 


418 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


House.  It  was  at  Holland  House,  of  wliicli  lie  became  possessed 
by  marriage,  that  Addison,  in  the  fine  couplet  of  Tickell, 

“  Taught  us  how  to  live ;  and,  oh  !  too  high 
A  price  for  knowledge,  taught  us  how  to  die !  ” 

Cowley’s  name  is  associated  with  Chertsey  and  Barn  Elms, 
both  in  the  county  of  Surrey.  The  house  at  Chertsey,  we  be¬ 
lieve,  yet  remains,  somewhat  modernized.  Over  the  door  is  a 
small  tablet  of  stone  on  which  is  inscribed, 

“  Here  the  last  accents  fell  from  Cowley’s  tongue.” 

Grub  street  is  replete  with  literary  memories,  inelegant  as  its 
name  is  ;  it  is  called  Hilton  street,  and  is  in  the  parish  of  St. 
Giles,  Cripplegate,  near  Bunhill  fields.  Many  of  its  old  houses 
remain  as  they  were  in  the  time  of  Charles  II. 

In  Coven t  Garden  Market  is  a  spot  around  which  genius 
seems  to  have  loved  to  hover.  In  Tavistock  house,  Johnson 
first  met  his  devoted  biographer,  Boswell ;  close  by  was  Will’s 
coffee  house,  at  which  place  Addison  and  his  confreres  used  to 
meet.  Hot  far  off  was  also  Evans’s  Club  and  the  “  Savage 
Club,”  the  frequent  rendezvous  of  the  writers  and  actors  of 
their  day. 

It  is  impossible  to  enumerate  even  the  most  noted  names,  in 
our  rapid  survey  of  the  shrines  of  genius ;  they  are  scattered 
all  over  British  soil.  There  are  a  few  names  we  have  omitted, 
however,  which  it  seems  like  treason  to  loyalty  to  ignore : 
Charles  Lamb,  who  lived  sometime  and  died — not  at  Enfield,  as 
has  been  supposed  by  some — but  at  Edmonton ;  his  grave  is  in 
the  church-yard  of  that  pleasant  retreat.  Mrs.  Barrett  Brown¬ 
ing,  who  lived  and  wrote  and  died  at  sunny  Florence ;  Mi’s. 
H  emans,  whose  grave  is  in  St.  Anne’s  church-yard,  Dublin ; 
Dr.  Chalmers,  whose  mortal  part  sleeps  in  the  cemetery  at 
Grange,  near  Morningside ;  and  the  saintly  and  eloquent  Ed- 


I 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS.  .  419 

ward  Irving,  whose  dust  rests  beneath  the  crypt  of  Glasgow 
(Cathedral.  Also  the  mighty  though  mystic  Coleridge,  who 
lived,  died,  and  was  buried  at  Highgate,  near  London ;  Cowper, 
u  the  Christian  household  poet  of  England,”  whose  ashes  rest  at 
.East  Durham  church-yard;  Hood,  “ the  prince  of  punsters,” 
and,  may  we  not  add,  of  pathos,  whose  monument  stands  in 
Kensall  Green  Cemetery. 

Among  the  historic  sites  of  London  there  are  not  many  which 
can  lay  claim  to  more  venerable  associations  than  the  Bunhill- 
fields  burial-ground  in  Finsbury.  It  was  first  used  for  interment 
at  the  time  of  the  Great  Plague,  and  is  the  site  of  the  “  great 
pit  in  Finsbury,”  spoken  of  in  Defoe’s  narrative. 

Old  Bunliill-fields  burying-ground  is  rich  in  memories  of 
eminent  men.  Among  the  celebrated  graves  of  this  “  Caynjpo. 
Santo  of  the  Dissenters,”  may  be  mentioned  those  of  De  Foe, 
the  well-known  author  of  “Bobinson  Crusoe,”  John  Bunyan, 
Isaac  Watts,  General  Fleetwood,  George  Fox,  the  first  of  the 
Quakers,  and  Stothard,  the  great  painter. 

Dickens’  last  residence  was  Gadshill,  Kochester,  near  London 
Here  he  died  in  the  midst  of  his  work,  and  of  his  days,  sud¬ 
denly,  to  the  great  sorrow  of  a  world  of  readers.  This  was 
the  Gadshill  of  Shakespeare’s  time,  and  here  passed  Chaucer 
and  his  pilgrims,  and  Falstaff  and  his  lawless  crew;  and  here 
followed  the  future  bard  of  Avon,  shaping  the  ancient  ballad 
of  the  “Bobbery  at  Gadshill”  into  one  of  those  “jewels,”  as 
Tennyson  defines  them,  “which  sparkle  in  the  forefinger  of 
Time.” 

In  another  direction,  amid  the  luxuriant  foliage  of  Stoke- 
Pogeis,  Buckinghamshire,  is  Gray’s  cliurch-yard,  almost  sur¬ 
rounded  with  high  fir-trees  covered  with  ivy,  which  impart  a 
pleasing  gloom  in  summer  to  the  spot.  It  is  impossible  to  ap¬ 
proach  it  without  feeling  that  it  is  a  spot  calculated  to  have  in¬ 
spired  the  poet  with  those  feelings  which  drew  from  him  his 


420 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


beautiful  and  well-known  “  Elegy.”  Here  he  wrote,  here  he 
wandered,  and  here  he  was  buried.  But  where  is  his  monu¬ 
ment?  We  look  for  it  in  vain,  either  in  the  church  or  cliurch- 
yard.#  There  is,  indeed,  the  tomb  of  “the  careful,  tender 
mother  of  many  children,  one  of  whom  had  the  misfortune  to 
survive  her.”  That  child  was  Thomas  Gray,  the  poet.  In 
that  simple  tomb  his  ashes  repose,  with  those  of  the  mother  he 
so  affectionately  loved.  Our  artist  has  given  us  a  beautiful 
sketch  of  the  scene. 

Ireland  claims  a  passing  allusion  :  if  its  literary  localities  are 
less  numerous,  they  are  scarcely  less  interesting.  To  begin 
with  the  metropolis :  there  is  Glasnevin,  with  its  recollections 
of  Tickell,  Parnell,  and  the  rest  of  that  brilliant  circle  which 
there  met ;  there  is  Swift’s  birthplace  in  Hoey’s  Court,  and  his 
tomb  in  St.  Patrick’s  ;  there  is  12  Dorset  street,  where  Sheridan 
first  drew  his  breath,  and  Aungier  street,  where  his  biographer, 
Thomas  Moore,  was  born.  And  how  many  a  one — even  the 
admirer  of  her  poetry — passes  20  Dawson  street,  without  think¬ 
ing  of  Mrs.  Hemans ;  yet  in  that  house  the  “  falcon-hearted 
dove”  folded  its  wing  and  fell  asleep,  and  in  the  vaults  of  St. 
Anne’s  Church,  hard  by,  her  mortal  remains  are  laid. 

Thomson’s  natal  place  was  Ednam,  near  Kelso,  Scotland  ; 
he  removed  thence  to  Southdean,  where  he  is  supjDosed  to  have 
indited  his  jnstly  celebrated  “Seasons;”  afterward  he  re¬ 
paired  to  a  house  near  Kichmond.  His  remains  rest  in  Pich- 

•  • 

mond  Church,  where  a  brass  tablet  is  erected  to  his  memory. 

But  in  our  rapid  survey  of  the  shrines  of  old  England  we 
had  well-nigh  forgotten  those  of  our  own  land.  When  gliding 
along  the  placid  Hudson,  why  do  we  instinctively  bend  our 
gaze  as  we  near  Tarrytown,  to  a  little  thickly-embowered 
nook,  with  its  vine-clad  cottage  nestling  in  its  bosom  ?  Along 
the  grand  old  wooded  and  rocky  borders  of  this  noble  river 
are  many  more  imposing  and  picturesque  vistas  and  views  than 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


421 


this  modest  ravine  presents ;  here  is  a  shrine  of  genius — it  is 
Sunny  side,  the  home  of  Washington  Irving.  Grand  and  spirit- 
stirring  as  are  foreign  sites  and  shrines,  there  is  yet  a  home- 
interest  for  us  in  the  spot  that  our  foremost  representative  in 
American  letters  has  consecrated  to  memory.  We  visit  the 
grave  of  his  sleeping  dust  in  the  rural  cemetery  of  his  legend¬ 
ary  “  Sleepy  Hollow,”  to  pay  the  tribute  of  loving  remem¬ 
brance  to  his  genial  and  gifted  character.  Irving  is  no  more 
with  us,  but  he  has  bequeathed  to  us  a  cherished  possession,  the 
fruits  of  his  exalted  genius,  and  the  pleasant  memory  of  his 
exemplary  life. 

Stretching  up  the  river  a  few  miles  is  another  memorial 
spot,  Willis’s  “Idlewild,”  amid  whose  picturesque  ravdnes  - 
some  of  the  poetic  prose  and  glowing  verse  of  that  well-known 
and  elegant  writer  emanated.  His  life-tours  of  Europe  were  to 
him  a  kind  of  perpetual  phantasmagoria. 

Every  one  knows,  or  is  supposed  to  know,  the  resting-place 
of  the  great  and  good  Washington,  at  Mount  Vernon,  which  is 
indicated  by  a  beautiful  marble  sarcophagus ;  and  also  that  of 
Franklin,  with  its  quaint  epitaph,  at  the  corner  of  Fifth  and 
Arch  streets,  Philadelphia.  The  tomb  of  Jefferson,  at  Monti- 
cello,  in  Virginia,  is  another  shrine  of  memory  for  the  Ameri¬ 
can  tourist. 

Among  memorable  sites  in  Hew  York  City  we  should  not 
omit  to  mention  the  old  Dutch  Church,  for  some  years  used  as 
the  Hew  York  Post  Office.  It  was  in  the  old  wooden  steeple 
of  this  church  that  Franklin  performed  his  first  experiments 
in  electricity.  Dirty  and  dingy  as  it  is,  who  would  not  look  at 
the  old  belfry  with  a  new  interest  as  the  starting-point  of  that 
luminous  train  which  now  encircles  the  globe,  and  by  which 
we  communicate  with  our  antipodes  with  almost  the  celerity  of 
thought  ?  We  shall  never  forget  the  historic  memories  of  old 
Faneuil  Hall,  Boston;  or  Independence  Hall,  with  its  daunt 


422 


THE  SHRINES  OF  GENIUS. 


less  “  Declaration  of  Independence.”  Memory  is  busy,  also, 
with  the  locale  of  Longfellow,  at  his  historic  mansion,  Cam¬ 
bridge,  Massachusetts ;  with  that  of  the  veteran  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  muse,  Bryant,  at  his  rustic  home,  Boslyn,  Long  Island; 
and  with  that  of  Emerson,  at  Concord  :  not  to  speak  of  others 
of  like  fame  in  our  literary  world — Motley,  Bancroft,  Hildreth ; 
Lossing,  in  history,  and  Holmes,  Saxe,  and  Lowell,  in  song. 
And,  lastly,  let  us  not  forget  those  other  worthies,  now  passed 
away — Audubon,  Prescott,  Paulding,  Hawthorne,  Everett, 
Cooper,  and  Webster,  the  undesigned  prophecy  of  whose 
words — “  I  still  live  ” — are  so  applicable  to  all. 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 

'  Law,  legally  considered,  and  in  brief  J  is  jurisprudence, 
and  this  again  may  be  distinguished  as  civil,  ecclesiastical,  and 
criminal.  But  there  are  sundry  other  kinds  of  law ;  to  wit : 
that  which  pertains  to  the  universe  at  large,  gravitation,  and 
the  laws  of  physical,  social,  and  civil  life.  Law  is  indeed  in¬ 
dispensable  to  the  well-being  of  society,  since  a  lawless  condi¬ 
tion  is  one  of  anarchy  and  confusion.  “Liberty  is  born  of 
lawf  for  “  true  liberty  is  the  power  of  doing  that  which  the  law 
permits.55 

But  as  there  is  a  comic  phase  to  most  things,  we  find  that 
even  the  stern  inflexible,  and  severe  gravity  of  law  is  not  with- 


424 


THE  HI3I0RS  OF  LAW. 


out  its  ludicrous  aspect.  Let  us  glance  at  some  of  its  humors 
and  absurdities ;  careful,  meanwhile,  that  our  pleasantries  do 
not  betray  ns  into  a  lawsuit  for  libel  or  impeachment  for  con¬ 
tempt  of  court ;  albeit,  neither  might  be  in  accordance  with 
equity  or  justice.  For  much  as  we  are  disposed  to  revere  the 
majesty  of  law,  we  would  keep  at  a  respectful  distance  from 
its  clutches,  lest  we  become  unwittingly  entangled  in  its  meshes 
and  toils.  Therefore  we  must  be  discreet  in  handling  our  sub- 
ject,  for  not  only  are  we  admonished  by  an  old  ditty  that  law 
is  litigation  and  tergiversation,  but  mystification  and  a  mon¬ 
strous  delusion  ;  so  that — 

‘  ‘  If  fond  of  pure  vexation,  Latin,  and  botheration, 

We’re  just  in  a  situation 

To  enjoy  a  suit  at  law.” 

Law  is  law — and,  as  in  such,  and  so  forth,  and  hereby,  and 
aforesaid,  provided  always,  nevertheless,  notwithstanding.  Law 
is  like  a  blistering  plaster — it  is  a  great  irritator,  and  only  to  be 
used  in  cases  of  great  extremity.  Law,  again,  is  compared  to 
a  country-dance ;  people  are  led  up  and  down  in  it  until  they 
are  thoroughly  tired.  Law  is  like  a  book  of  surgery ;  there 
are  a  great  many  terrible  cases  in  it. 

Law  always  expresses  itself  with  true  grammatical  precisiorq 
never  confounding  moods,  tenses,  cases,  or  genders,  except, 
indeed,  when  a  woman  happens  accidentally  to  be  slain,  then 
the  verdict  brought  in  is  manslaughter.  The  essence  of  law 
is  altercation,  for  the  law  can  altercate,  fulminate,  deprecate, 
irritate,  and  go  on  at  any  rate. 

“  Law  is  like  longitude,  about  never  completely  yet  found  out ; 

Though  practised  notwithstanding. 

’Tis  like  the  fatalist’s  strange  creed,  which  justifies  a  wicked  deed, 

While  sternly  reprimanding  !  ” 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


425 


“  Law  lias  been  compared  to  fire ;  since  those  who  meddle 
with  it  generally  burn  their  fingers.  Law  is  like  a  sieve  ;  you 
may  see  through  it — but  you  will  be  considerably  reduced 
before  you  get  through  it.  It  is  to  the  litigant  what  the  poul¬ 
terer  is  to  the  goose — it  plucks  and  it  draws  him;  but  here  the 
simile  ends,  for  the  litigant,  unlike  the  goose,  never  gets  trust, 
although  he  may  be  roasted  and  dished ’.” 

Human  laws  are  designed  mainly  to  protect  absolute  rights  ; 
the  laws,  or  the  lawyers,  however,  often  interfere  with  what 
seems  absolutely  right,  till  there  is  nothing  absolutely  left  of 
the  original  right — and  absolute  wrong  is  of  necessity  the  con¬ 
sequence.  Those  reputed,  allies — equity  and  justice — seem,  in 
these  boasted  days  of  “  progress/’  not  only  to  have  repudiated 
their  avowed  relationship,  but  even  to  have  wellnigh  lost  all 
kind  of  respect  for  each  other.  But  we  must  remember  that 
Justice  is  blind,  although  she  balances  the  scales.  It  is  with 
law  as  with  physic :  so  long  as  diseases  and  discord  disturb  the 
social  fabric,  legal  pacification  and  pills  seem  to  be  indispensa¬ 
ble.  We  must  all  have  our  share  of  trials  in  this  life  ;  but  trial 
by  jury  should  by  all  means  be  avoided. 

An  amusing  paper  on  the  “  Legerdemain  of  Law-craft,”  thus 
defines  an  honest  counsel :  “  He  is  not  double-faced,  like 

Janus,  to  take  a  retaining  fee  from,  plaintiff,  and  afterward  a 
back-handed  bribe  from  the  defendant ;  nor  so  double-tongued 
that  one  may  purchase  his  pleading,  and  the  other,  at  the  same 
or  a  larger  price,  his  silence.  .  .  .  He  does  not  play  the 

empiric  with  his  client,  and  put  him  on  the  rack  to  make  him 
bleed  more  freely,  casting  him  into  a  swoon  with  frights  of  a 
judgment,  and  then  reviving  him  again  with  a  cordial-writ  of 
error,  or  the  choice  elixir  of  an  injunction.” 

The  scene  presented  at  a  court  of  justice  (i.e.  law)  is  one  of 
strange  interest.  It  is  there  human  nature  may  be  studied 
with  great  effect.  The  passions  of  men  are  not  only  brought  into 


426 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


play — they  riot  in  dire  confusion.  The  cupidity  and  cunning 
of  counsel,  the  qualms  and  querulousness  of  the  clients,  the 
stern  immobility  of  the  judge,  the  officiousness  of  the  crier,  and 
the  stolid  indifference  of  those  ominous  individuals  who  are  to 
decide  the  fate  of  the  contending  parties,  contrast  broadly 
with  the  vulgar  curiosity  evinced  by  the  promiscuous  crowd. 
A  suit  at  law  is,  beyond  all  controversy,  a  most  uncomfortable 
one — it  unfits  a  man  for  everything  else  ;  it  disturbs  his  peace, 
wastes  his  money,  and  too  often  ruins  his  reputation.  The 
very  term,  suit  at  law,  is,  by  the  way,  a  misnomer ;  for  it 
frequently  strips  a  man  of  all  he  has,  and  he  seldom  gets  any 
re-dress. 

The  law  courts  are  not  unfrequently  the  scene  of  severe 
gladiatorial  rhetoric  between  counsel,  on  the  diamond-cut- 
diamond  principle.  In  a  London  court  a  counsel  for  the 
defendant,  in  an  action,  after  dissecting  his  antagonist’s  speech 
and  deducing  inferences  diametrically  opposite  to  him,  observ¬ 
ing  him  wince  under  the  infliction,  cruelly  intensified  his 
discomfiture  by  adding,  “My  learned  friend  on  the  other 
side  shakes  his  head  (emphasizing  the  word),  but  I  don’t  know 
that  there’s  much  in  that !  ” 

Counsellor  Lamb,  an  old  man  when  Lord  Erskine  was  at  the 
height  of  his  reputation,  was  a  man  of  timid  manners  and 
nervous  temperament,  and  usually  prefaced  his  plea  with  an 
apology  to  that  effect.  On  one  occasion,  when  opposed  to 
Erskine,  he  happened  to  remark  that  he  felt  himself  growing 
more  and  more  timid  as  he  grew  older.  “  No  wonder,” 
replied  the  witty  but  relentless  barrister,  “  every  one  knows 
that  the  older  a  lamb  grows  the  more  sheepish  he  becomes.” 

Brow-beating  of  witnesses  is  an  old  standing  charge  against 
counsel.  The  poor  victim  of  legal  torture  is  placed  on  the 
stand,  and  after  having  undergone  the  most  exhaustive  process 
of  pumping,  by  the  one  counsel,  he  is  handed  over  to  the  cross- 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


427 


examiner,  who  ingeniously  endeavors  to  make  him  contradict 
the  testimony  he  has  just  given. 

If  even  law  were  proved  to  be  a  positive  good,  we  have  so 
much  of  it  that  it  has  come  to  be  a  positive  evil.  Added  to  its 
countless  statute-books,  its  codes,  civil,  common,  and  canon,  we 
have  such  voluminous  commentaries  as  no  mortal  man  can 
comprehend  or  even  read.  This  prodigality  of  law  has  proved 
the  occasion  of  an  equally  prolific  race  of  lawyers,  scarcely 
any  two  of  whom  interpret  law  alike. 

We  have  looked  enough  at  the  negative  side  of  law ;  but 
where  it  is  made  synonymous  with  equity  and  justice,  it  is  in¬ 
vested  with  the  sanctions  of  Divinity.  One  of  the  old  divines, 
Hooker, said  of  law  that  “her  seat  is  the  bosom  of  God  and 
her  voice  the  harmony  of  the  universe.” 

The  ancients,  as  a  proof  of  their  reverence  for  law  and 
justice,  represented  their  goddess,  Themis,  as  the  daughter  of 
Heaven  and  Earth — of  Heaven,  as  typical  of  her  purity  and 
holiness — of  Earth,  as  representing  her  abode  and  sphere  of 
action.  To  denote  her  strength  she  was  of  Titanic  origin  ;  as 
an  appreciation  of  her  consequence  she  was  placed  by  the  side 
of  Jupiter. 

Well  may  we  congratulate  ourselves  when  we  remember 
that  the  laws  of  Draco,  the  Pandects  of  Justinian,  and  the 
Decretals  of  Gregory  are  now  among  the  things  that  were, 
and  that  we  live  in  an  age  when  men  know  and  realize  what 
are  their  rights  and  can  defend  them. 

If  any  one  would  like  to  see  the  form  of  a  barrister’s  or 
rather  a  lawyer’s  “  declaration  ”  in  an  action,  here  is  one  : 

“  The  pleadings  state  that  John-a-Gull, 

With  envy,  wrath,  and  malice  full, 

With  swords,  knives,  sticks,  staves,  fist,  and  bludgeon, 

Beat,  bruised,  and  wounded  John-a-Gudgeon  ! 

First  count’s  for  that  with  divers  jugs, — 

To  wit :  twelve  pots,  twelve  cups,  twelve  mugs, 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


42* 

Of  certain  vulgar  drink,  called  toddy, 

Said  Gull  did  sluice  said  Gudgeon’s  body. 

The  second  count’s  for  other  toddy, 

Thrown  by  said  Gull  on  Gudgeon’s  body, — 

To  wit,  his  gold-laced  hat,  and  hair  on, 

And  clothes,  which  he  had  then  and  there  on, — 

To  wit :  twelve  jackets,  twelve  surtouts, 

Twelve  pantaloons,  twelve  pair  of  boots ; 

Which  did  thereby  much  discompose 
Said  Gudgeon’s  mouth,  eyes,  ears,  and  nose, 

Back,  stomach,  neck,  thighs,  feet,  and  toes  ; 

By  which,  and  other  wrongs  unheard  of, 

His  clothes  were  spoiled,  and  life  despaired  of.” 

Lord  Eldon  was  renowned  for  his  doubting  propensity. 
Many  were  the  squibs,  in  prose  and  verse,  of  which  this  Fabius 
of  Chancellors  was  the  subject.  It  is  stated  that  during  his 
chancellorship,  such  was  his  high  sense  of  rectitude,  that  he  is 
said  to  have  retained  counsel,  in  some  instances,  five,  ten,  and 
even  twenty  years  (according  to  the  capacity  of  the  purse  of  the 
parties  concerned),  rather  than  venture  a  rash  judgment  in  some 
equity  cases.  The  longest  suit  on  record,  in  England,  is  that  of 
4he  heirs  of  Sir  Thomas  Talbot  and  the  heirs  of  Lord  Berkeley, 
respecting  some  property  in  the  county  of  Gloucester.  It  began 
at  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.,  and  was  depending 
until  the  beginning  of  that  of  James  I.,  when  it  was  finally  com¬ 
pounded — being  a  period  of  not  less  than  one  hundred  and 
twenty  years ! 

Erskine  once  met  a  grandiloquent  barrister  who  delighted  in 
flowery  language.  Perceiving  that  his  ankle  was  tied  up,  Er¬ 
skine  asked  the  cause.  “  Why,  my  dear  sir,”  answered  the 
wordy  lawyer,  “  I  was  taking  a  romantic  ramble  in  my  broth¬ 
er’s  grounds,  when,  coming  to  a  gate,  I  had  to  climb  over  it,  in 
doing  which  I  came  in  contact  with  the  uppermost  bar  and 
have  grazed  the  epidermis  of  my  shin,  attended  with  a  slight 
extravasation  of  blood.”  “  You  may  thank  your  stars,”  replied 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


429 


Erskine,  “  that  your  brother’s  gate  was  not  as  lofty  as  your  style 
or  you  must  have  broken  your  neck.” 

Sheridan  was  one  day  much  annoyed  by  a  fellow-member 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  who  kept  crying  out  every  minute? 

Hear !  hear !  ”  In  describing  a  political  contemporary  that 
wished  to  play  rogue,  but  had  only  sense  enough  to  act  fool, 
he  took  occasion  to  exclaim  with  great  emphasis  :  “  "Where, 
where  shall  we  find  a  more  foolish  knave  or  a  more  knavish 
fool  than  he  ?  ”  “  Hear  !  hear  !  ”  was  shouted  by  the  trouble¬ 

some  member.  Sheridan  turned  round,  and  thanking  him  for 
the  prompt  information,  sat  down  amid  a  general  roar  of  laugh¬ 
ter.  We  meet  with  punning  pleaders  and  sarcastic  counsellors 
in  abundance ;  so  the  reader,  it  is  hoped,  will  relish  their  jokes 
and  repartees  “  hereinafter  following.”  To  refrain  from  multi¬ 
plying  instances  of  the  ludicrous  in  law  is,  indeed,  no  easy  mat¬ 
ter,  since  the  recollection  of  the  names  even  of  prominent 
members  of  the  Irish  bar  are  so  suggestive  of  fun.  Who  can 
think  of  Philpott,  Shi  el,  Curran,  and  Horbury,  without  recol¬ 
lecting  their  jokes  ? 

Curran  was  engaged  in  a  legal  argument ;  behind  him  stood 
his  colleague,  a  gentleman  whose  person  was  remarkably  tall 
and  slender,  and  who  had  originally  intended  to  take  orders. 
The  judge  observing  that  the  case  under  discussion  involved  a 
question  of  ecclesiastical  law — u  Then,”  said  Curran,  “  I  can 
refer  your  lordship  to  a  high  authority  behind  me,  who  was 
once  intended  for  the  Church,  though,  in  my  opinion,  he  was 
fitter  for  the  steeple.”  “  Ho  man,”  said  a  wealthy  but  weak- 
headed  barrister,  “  should  be  admitted  to  the  bar  who  has  not 
an  independent  landed  property.”  “  Way  I  ask,  sir,”  said  Cur¬ 
ran,  “  how  many  acres  make  a  wise-&cre  ?  ”  On  another  occa¬ 
sion  he  was  asked,  “  Could  you  not  have  known  this  boy  to  be 
my  son  from  his  resemblance  to  me  ?  ”  Curran  answered, 
“  Tes,  sir,  the  maker’s  name  is  stamped  upon  the  bladeP  Being 


430 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


asked  again,  “what  an  Irish  gentleman,  just  arrived  in  Eng¬ 
land,  could  mean  by  perpetually  putting  out  his  tongue  %  ”  he 
answered,  “  I  suppose  he’s  trying  to  catch  the  English  accent.” 

Plunkett,  while  pleading  one  day,  observing  the  hour  to  be 
late,  said  it  was  his  wish  to  proceed  with  the  trial  if  the  jury 
would  set.  “  Sit,  sir,”  said  the  judge,  correcting  him,  “  not  set ; 
hens  set.”  “  I  thank  you,  my  lord,”  was  the  reply.  Shortly 
after  the  judge  had  occasion  to  observe,  “  that  if  such  were  the 
case,  he  feared  the  action  would  not  lay.”  66  Lie ,  my  lord,” 
said  the  barrister,  “  not  lay ;  hens  lay.” 

A  British  lawyer  was  engaged  some  time  since  to  defend  a 
man  who  had  been  charged  with  theft.  Assuming  the  prerog¬ 
ative  of  his  position,  the  counsel,  in  a  private  interview  with  his 
client,  said  to  him,  “  Now,  Patrick,  as  I  am  to  defend  you  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  frankly  whether  you  are  guilty  or  not. 
Did  you  steal  the  goods  ?  ”  “  Faith,  then,”  said  Pat,  “  I  s’pose 

I  must  tell  yez.  In  troth,  I  did  stale  ’em !  ”  “  Then  you  ought 

to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  come  here  and  disgrace  your 
country  by  stealing  \  ”  said  the  honest  counsel.  “  In  troth,  sir, 
maybe  I  ought;  but,  then,  if  I  didn’t  stale,  you  wouldn’t  have 
the  honor  and  credit  of  getting  me  off !  ” 

It  may  be  remembered,  a  curious  instance  occurred  of  a  wit¬ 
ness  confounding  a  counsel,  at  Gloucester,  England,  some  years 
ago.  The  witness,  on  being  asked  his  name,  gave  it  Ottiwell 
Woodd.  He  pronounced  it  hurriedly  several  times,  as  the 
learned  counsel  did  not  seem  to  catch  it.  “  Spell  it,  sir,  if 
you  please,”  he  said,  somewhat  angrily ;  the  witness  complied 
thus  :  “  O,  tt,  i,  w,  e,  11,  W,  oo,  dd.”  The  spelling  more  con¬ 
founded  the  counsel  than  ever,  and  in  his  confusion,  amid  the 
riotous  laughter  of  the  court,  he  took  the  witness  aside  to  help 
him  to  spell  it  after  him. 

O’Connell  was  once  examining  a  witness,  whose  inebriety,  at 
the  time  to  which  the  evidence  referred,  it  was  essential  to  his 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


431 


client’s  case  to  prove.  lie  quickly  discovered  the  man’s  char¬ 
acter.  He  was  a  fellow  who  may  be  described  as  “  half- -foolish 
with  roguery.”  “Well,  Darby,  you  told  the  truth  to  this  gen¬ 
tleman  ?  ”  “  Yes,  your  honor,  Counsellor  O’Connell.”  “  How 

do  you  know  my  name  ?  ”  “  Ah  !  sure  every  one  knows  our 

own  pathriot .”  “  Well,  you  are  a  good-humored,  honest  fel¬ 

low  ;  now  tell  me,  Darby,  did  you  take  a  drop  of  anything  that 
day  ?  ”  “  Why,  your  honor,  I  took  my  share  of  a  pint  of 

spirits.”  “  Your  share  of  it ;  now,  by  virtue  of  your  oath,  was 
not  your  share  of  it  all  hut  the  pewter?  ”  “Why,  then,  dear 
knows,  that’s  true  for  you,  sir.”  The  court  was  convulsed  at 
both  question  and  answer. 

Here  is  an  instance  of  his  ready  tact  and  infinite  resource  in 
the  defence  of  his  client.  In  a  trial  at  Cork  for  murder  the 
principal  witness  swore  strongly  against  the  prisoner.  He 
particularly  swore  that  a  hat,  found  near  the  place  of  the  mur¬ 
der,  belonged  to  the  prisoner,  whose  name  was  James.  “  By 
virtue  of  your  oath,  are  you  sure  that  this  is  the  same  hat  \  ” 
“  Yes.”  “  Did  you  examine  it  carefully  before  you  swore,  in 
your  information,  that  it  was  the  prisoner’s  ?  ”  “I  did.”  “ How 
let  me  see,”  said  O’Connell,  as  he  took  up  the  hat  and  began 
to  examine  it  carefully  in  the  inside.  He  then  spelled  aloud 
the  name  of  James,  slowly,  and  repeated  the  question  as  to 
whether  the  hat  contained  the  name ;  when  the  respondent 
promptly  replied,  “  It  did.”  “  How,  my  lord,”  said  O’Connell, 
holding  up  the  hat  to  the  bench,  “  there  is  an  end  of  the  case 
— there  is  no  name  whatever  inscribed  in  the  hat.”  The  result 
was,  of  course,  acquittal. 

The  following  anecdote  of  two  eminent  pleaders,  Pinckney 
and  Emmet,  we  copy  from  the  Knickerbocker :  it  is  an  admir¬ 
able  rebuke  upon  those  who  suppose  that  irony,  sarcasm,  and 
invective  constitute  the  essentials  of  forensic  eloquence. 

“We  do  not  know  when  we  have  encountered  a  more  forci 


432 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


ble  exemplification  of  the  truth,  ‘that  a  soft  answer  tumeth 
away  wrath,’  than  is  afforded  in  the  ensuing  anecdote :  On 
one  occasion  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  the 
eloquent  Irish  exile,  Emmet,  and  the  distinguished  orator, 
Pinckney,  were  on  opposite  sides  in  an  important  cause,  and 
one  which  the  latter  had  much  at  heart.  In  the  course  of  the 
argument  he  made  some  offensive  personal  observations  on 
Emmet,  with  a  view  of  irritating  him  and  weakening  his  reply. 
Emmet  sat  quiet  and  endured  it  all.  It  seemed  to  have  sharp¬ 
ened  his  intellect  without  having  irritated  his  temper.  When 
the  argument  was  finished,  he  said :  ‘  Perhaps  he  ought  to 

notice  the  remarks  of  the  opposite  counsel,  but  this  was  a 
species  of  warfare  in  which  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  have 
little  experience  and  one  in  which  he  never  dealt — he  was 
willing  that  his  learned  opponent  should  have  all  the  advan¬ 
tages  he  promised  himself  from  the  display  of  his  talents  in 
that  way.  When  he  came  to  this  country  he  was  a  stranger, 
and  was  happy  to  say  that  from  the  bar  generally  and  the 
court  universally  he  had  experienced  nothing  but  politeness 
and  even  kindness.  He  believed  the  court  would  do  him  the 
justice  to  say  that  he  had  said  or  done  nothing  in  this  cause  to 
merit  a  different  treatment.  lie  had  always  been  accustomed 
to  admire  and  even  reverence  the  learning  and  eloquence  of 
Mr.  Pinckney,  and  he  was  the  last  man  from  whom  he  should 
have  expected  personal  observations  of  the  sort  the  court  had 
just  witnessed.  He  had  been  in  early  life  taught  by  the  high¬ 
est  authority  not  to  return  railing  for  railing.  He  would  only 
say  that  he  had  been  informed  that  the  learned  gentleman  had 
filled  the  highest  office  his  country  could  bestow  at  the  court 
of  St.  James.  He  was  very  sure  that  he  had  not  learned  his 
breeding  in  that  school.’ 

“  The  court  and  the  bar  were  delighted  ;  for  Mr.  Pinckney 
was  apt  to  be  occasionally  a  little  too  overbearing.  When  we 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


433 


take  into  consideration  the  merit  of  resistance  against  the 
natural  impulse  of  a  warm  Irish  temperament,  we  must  admire 
still  more  the  manner  adopted  by  Mr.  Emmet.  Mr.  Pinckney 
afterward  tendered  the  most  ample  apology.  ‘  The  manner,’ 
said  he,  6  in  which  Mr.  Emmet  has  replied,  reproaches  me  by 
its  forbearance  and  urbanity,  and  could  not  fail  to  hasten  the 
repentance  which  reflection  alone  would  have  produced,  and 
which  I  am  glad  to  have  so  public  an  occasion  of  avowing.  I 
offer  him  a  gratuitous  and  cheerful  atonement :  cheerful 
because  it  puts  me  to  rights  with  myself,  and  because  it  is 
tendered  not  to  ignorance  and  presumption,  but  to  the  highest 
worth,  intellect,  and  morals,  enhanced  by  such  eloquence  as 
few  may  hope  to  equal ;  to  an  interesting  stranger  whom  ad¬ 
versity  has  tried,  and  affliction  struck  severely  to  the  heart ;  to 
an  exile  whom  any  country  might  be  proud  to  receive  and 
every  man  of  a  generous  temper  would  be  ashamed  to  offend.’  ” 

Special  pleaders  sometimes  resort  to  curious  expedients  for 
producing  an  effect  on  the  sympathies  of  the  jury — a  body  of 
men  distinguished  alike  for  their  acute  sensibilities  and  criti¬ 
cal  sagacity.  In  a  criminal  case,  in  which  the  culprit  was 
arraigned  upon  a  charge  of  manslaughter,  which  seemed  to 
bear  very  much  against  the  prisoner,  the  counsel  held  up  his 
little  child,  who  was  crying  aloud,  as  an  eloquent  appeal  to  the 
jury  in  his  behalf.  This  might  have  answered  very  well  had 
not  one  of  their  number  put  the  pertinent  question  to  the 
youngster,  “  What  are  you  crying  for  ?  ”  when  the  artless  reply 
was,  “  He  pinched  me,  sir.” 

As  no  one  denies  that  the  bar  has  been  ever  distinguished 
for  eloquence,  it  is  not  needful  for  us  to  cite  a  list  of  luminous 
names  to  prove  the  fact.  Rathe?'  would  we  present  the  follow¬ 
ing  curious  case  of  an  attorney,  who  was  possessed  of  a  won¬ 
derful  facility  in  “facing  both  ways.”  A  Scottish  advocate, 

we  have  forgotten  his  name,  having  on  a  certain  occasion  drank 
28 


434 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


rather  too  freely,  was  called  on  unexpectedly  to  plead  in  a 
cause  in  which  he  had  been  retained.  The  lawyer  mistook  the 
party  for  whom  he  was  engaged,  and  to  the  great  amazement 
of  the  agent  who  had  feed  him,  and  to  the  absolute  horror  of 
the  poor  client,  who  was  in  court,  he  delivered  a  long  and  fer¬ 
vent  speech  directly  opposite  to  the  interests  he  had  been 
called  upon  to  defend.  Such  was  his  zeal  that  no  whispered 
remonstrance,  no  jostling  of  the  elbow,  could  stop  him.  But 
just  as  he  was  about  to  sit  down  the  trembling  client,  in  a  brief 
note,  informed  him  that  he  had  been  pleading  for  the  wrong 
party.  This  intimation,  which  would  have  disconcerted  most 
men,  had  a  very  different  effect  on  the  advocate,  who,  with  an 
air  of  infinite  composure,  resumed  his  oration.  “  Such,  my 
lords,”  said  he,  “  is  the  statement  which  you  will  probably  hear 
from  my  learned  brother  on  the  opposite  side  in  this  cause.  I 
shall  now,  therefore,  beg  leave,  in  a  few  words,  to  show  your 
lordships  how  utterly  untenable  are  the  principles  and  how  dis¬ 
torted  are  the  facts  upon  which  this  very  specious  statement 
has  proceeded.”  The  learned  gentleman  then  went  over  the 
whole  ground,  and  did  not  take  his  seat  until  he  had  completely 
and  energetically  refuted  the  whole  of  his  former  pleading. 

We  pause  not  to  notice  any  of  the  peculiarities  of  pleading, 
in  connection  with  briefs — those  legal  documentary  instru¬ 
ments,  usually  more  remarkable  for  their  expansion  and  verbos¬ 
ity  than  anything  else.  In  early  times  pleading  was  carried 
on  without  the  aid  of  briefs. 

Sterne  insinuates  that  attorneys  are  to  lawyers  what  apothe¬ 
caries  are  to  physicians — only  that  they  do  not  deal  in  scruples! 
Attorneys  and  lawyers  in  our  courts  are  convertible  terms. 

Having  referred  to  briefs,  we  are  reminded  of  the  opposite. 

We  have  not  dilated  upon  “  the  law’s  delay.”  The  topic  is, 
however,  too  trite  to  talk  about — let  an  instance  suffice. 

The  fault,  in  some  instances,  rests  more  with  the  client  than 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


435 


the  counsel :  the  judicial  reports  exhibit  many  such  absurdi¬ 
ties.  In  the  Chancery  Court  of  England,  the  case  of  Narty 
vs.  Duncan  occurred,  in  which  suit  actually  two  thousand 
pounds  sterling  were  expended  in  determining  which  party 
was  liable  to  paint  a  board  and  whitewash  a  sign ! 

We  have  at  our  hand  a  case,  and  as  it  is  a  very  striking  one, 
we  may  as  well  introduce  it  with  the  view  of  adding  force  to 
our  observations. 

A  lawyer,  retained  in  a  case  of  assault  and  battery,  was 
cross-examining  a  witness  in  relation  to  the  force  of  a  blow 
struck  :  “  What  kind  of  a  blow  was  given  ?  ”  “  A  blow  of 

the  common  kind.”  “  Describe  the  blow.”  “  I  am  not  good 
at  description.”  “  Shc*v  me  what  kind  of  a  blow  it  was.”  “  I 
cannot.”  “  You  must.”  “  I  wont.”  The  lawyer  appealed  to 
the  court.  The  court  told  the  witness  that  if  the  counsel  in¬ 
sisted  upon  his  showing  what  kind  of  a  blow  it  was,  he  must 
do  so.  “  Do  you  insist  upon  it  ?  ”  asked  the  witness.  “  I  do.” 
“  Well,  then,  since  you  compel  me  to  show  you,  it  was  this 
kind  of  a  blow !  ”  at  the  same  time  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  and  knocking  over  the  astonished  disciple  of  Coke  upon 
Littleton.  Is  this  authentic,  say  you  ?  Deponent  saith  not. 

In  this  connection  we  have  yet  another  case  to  present,  in 
which  the  irritating  and  too  irritable  counsel  was  completely 
nonplussed.  It  is  as  follows  : 

“  I  call  upon  you,”  said  the  counsellor,  “  to  state  distinctly 
upon  what  authority  you  are  prepared  to  swear  to  the  mare’s 
age.”  “  Upon  what  authority  ?  ”  said  the  ostler,  interroga¬ 
tively.  “You  are  to  reply  to,  and  not  to  repeat  the  questions 
put  to  you.”  “  I  doesn’t  consider  a  man’s  bound  to  answer  a 
question  afore  he’s  time  to  turn  it  in  his  mind.”  “Nothing 
can  be  more  simple,  sir,  than  the  question  put.  I  again  repeat 
it :  ‘  Upon  what  authority  do  you  swear  to  the  animal’s  age  ? 

“  The  best  authority,”  responded  the  witness,  gruffly.  “  Then 


43G 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


why  such  evasion  %  Why  not  state  it  at  once  ?  ”  “  Well,  then? 

if  you  must  have  it.”  “  Must !  I  will  have  it,”  vociferated  the 
counsellor,  interrupting  the  witness.  “Well,  then,  if  you  must 
and  will  have  it,”  rejoined  the  ostler,  with  imperturbable  grav¬ 
ity,  “  why,  then,  I  had  it  myself  from  the  mare’s  own  mouth.” 
A  simultaneous  burst  of  laughter  rang  through  the  court. 

We  do  not  intend  to  reproduce  any  of  the  instances  of  matri¬ 
monial  infelicity,  that,  alas,  too  frequently  occur,  and  are  re¬ 
ported  by  the  periodical  press  with  such  heightened  effect. 
We  have,  however,  at  hand  a  case  of  desertion  by  a  faithless 
swain,  bearing  the  suspicious  name  of  Bachelor,  for  breach  of 
promise  of  marriage.  A  number  of  the  defendant’s  love-letters 
were  produced,  in  which  the  fluctuations  of  his  love  were  very 
amusingly  exhibited.  His  first  epistles  terminated  with, 
“  Yours,  J.  B. ;  ”  then  fired  up  to  “  My  ever  dearest  Maria ;  ” 
afterward  they  softened  into  “  My  Darling ;  ”  then  cooled  into 
“  Dear  Maria  ;  ”  then  formalized  into  “  Dear  Miss  Bogers ;  ” 
and  broke  off  with  the  following  announcement :  “  You  wish 
to  know  how  I  intend  to  settle ;  all  I  can  say  is  that  I  cannot 
be  more  settled  than  I  am.” 

The  following  bit  of  the  humorous  once  Occurred  in  a  Dub¬ 
lin  court.  Judge  :  “  Pray,  my  good  man,  what  passed  between 
you  and  the  prisoner  ?  state  it  to  the  court.”  “  Och,  thin,  plase 
yer  worship,”  says  Pat,  “  sure  I  sees  Phelan  on  the  top  of  a 
wall.  ‘  Paddy,’  says  he  ;  ‘  what  ?  ’  says  I ;  ‘  here,’  says  he  ; 
6  where,’  says  I ;  £  whist !  ’  says  he  ;  ‘  hush,’  says  I :  and 

that  is  all  I  know  about  it,  plase  yer  worship.”  After  this 
lucid  testimony  Pat  was  dismissed  without  further  questioning. 

Sometimes  a  simple  rustic  proves  more  than  a  match  for  the 
tactics  of  learned  counsel.  Some  years  ago,  at  the  Lincoln 
Assizes,  the  temper  of  the  examining  counsel  was  somewhat 
tried  by  a  certain  timid  witness  whose  testimony  could  scarcely 
be  heard.  After  this  there  appeared  upon  the  stand  one  who 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


437 


seemed  to  be  simplicity  personified.  “How,  sir,”  said  the 
learned  representative  of  law,  in  a  loud  voice,  “  I  hope  we  shall 
have  no  difficulty  in  making  you  speak  up.”  “I  hope  not,  sir,” 
was  shouted,  or  rather  bellowed  out  by  the  witness,  that  startled 
the  whole  court  out  of  its  propriety.  “  How  dare  you  speak  in 
that  way,  sir,”  said  the  counsel.  “  Please,  zur,  I  cannot  speak 
any  louder,  zur,”  replied  the  astonished  witness,  attempting  to 
shout  even  louder  than  before.  “  Pray,  have  you  been  drink¬ 
ing  this  morning  ?  ”  screamed  out  the  man  of  law,  quite  losing 
his  self-control.  “  Yes,  zur,”  was  the  reply.  “  And  what  have 
you  been  drinking  ?  ”  “  Coffee,  zur.”  “  And  what  did  you 

have  in  your  coffee,  sir?”  shouted  the  exasperated  lawyer. 
“A  spoon,  zur,”  wa^  the  answer,  amid  the  roars  of  the 
whole  court. 

A  member  of  the  Hew  York  Bar  was  once  asked  by  a  man 
in  the  street,  whether  a  five-dollar  bill  which  he  showed  to  him 
was  a  good  one.  “  Yes,”  was  the  reply,  putting  the  bank-note 
into  his  pocket.  The  interrogator  thanked  him,  and  asked  him 
to  return  the  note.  All  he  got  was,  “  I  never  give  an  opinion 
under  five  dollars.” 

Hames  are  sometimes  significant,  professionally,  as  in 
the  instance  of  the  well-known  legal  firm,  in  Hew  York — 
Ketchum  and  Cheatham.  As  the  combination  was  found  to  be 
provocative  of  risible  curiosity  the  firm  changed  it  so  as  to 
read  thus :  “  I.  Ketchum  and  U.  Cheatham  !  ”  (their  (Christian 
names  being  respectively  Isaac  and  Uriah.) 

A  certain  judicial  functionary  on  the  confines  of  our  western 
clearings  once  confessed,  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart,  that  he 
could  decide  well  enough  upon  a  case  when  he  heard  one  side, 
but  it  bothered  him  to  listen  to  both.  That  seems  to  have  been 
the  case  with  that  renowned  doubter,  Chancellor  Eldon ;  so 
we  need  not  wonder  that  a  lesser  luminary  should  be  lost  in  the 
fog. 


438 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


In  a  county  town  of  Georgia  a  man  named  Knott  was  tried, 
and  his  case  was  indeed  a  knotty  one,  for  the  judge  even  was 
unable  to  decide  upon  the  verdict  rendered,  whether  to  pro¬ 
nounce  sentence  or  not.  The  Jury  found  “  the  prisoner, 
Knott,  guilty !  ” 

Judge  Story  and  Edward  Everett  once  met  at  a  public  din¬ 
ner  in  Boston,  when  the  first-named  offered  as  a  toast  the  fol¬ 
lowing:  “Fame  follows  merit  where  Everett  goes.”  The 
retort  courteous  was  no  less  felicitous :  “  To  whatever  height 
judicial  learning  may  attain  in  this  country,  there  will  be  al¬ 
ways  one  Story  higher.”  This  reminds  us  of  a  similar  in¬ 
stance,  when  Prof.  Longfellow  met  Mr.  Longwortli ;  and  on  the 
host  introducing  them  to  each  other,  t^e  professor  remarked 
that  their  names  bore  some  resemblance,  but  were  suggestive  of 
the  old  maxim,  that  “  worth  makes  the  man,  the  want  of  it, 
the  fellow.” 

Judge  Peters,  of  Philadelphia,  on  one  occasion  referring  to 
a  witness,  said  he  had  a  vegetable  head.  “  How  so,”  was  the 
inquiry.  “  He  has  carroty  hair,  reddish  cheeks,  a  turnujp  nose, 
and  a  sage  look,”  was  the  reply. 

The  same  facetious  functionary  asked  his  friend  Condy  for  a 
book.  The  latter  replied,  “With  pleasure;  I  will  send  it  to 
you.”  “  That,”  said  he,  “  will  be  truly  condescending  ”  (Condy- 
sending). 

On  another  occasion  a  counsel  so  tormented  a  witness  by 
cross-examination  that  he  called  for  w’ater ;  the  judge  exclaimed, 
“  I  thought  you  would  pump  him  dry.” 

Sir  Boyle  Boche  has  been  made  responsible  for  several  irre¬ 
sistible  jokes.  For  instance ;  he  it  was  who  first  gave  utterance 
to  that  sagacious  aphorism,  “  Single  misfortunes  never  come 
afone ;  and  the  greatest  of  all  is  generally  followed  by  a  much 
greater.”  He  ordered  his  shoemaker  on  one  occasion  to  make 
one  boot  larger  than  the  other  to  suit  his  gouty  foot.  They 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


439 


were  brought  home  to  him,  and  as  he  was  trying  them  on  he 
exclaimed,  “  I  told  yon  to  make  one  larger  than  the  other,  and 
yon  have  done  exactly  the  reverse,  for  you  have  made  one 
smaller  than  the  other.”  During  the  troublous  times  in  which 
he  lived  property  and  life  were  deemed  insecure.  lie  wrote 
once  to  a  friend :  “  You  may  judge  of  our  state  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  write  this  with  a  pistol  in  each  hand  and  a  sword  in 
the  other !  ” 

He  it  was  who,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  loyalty,  described 
that  remarkable  performance  in  gymnastics,  when  he  declared 
that  he  “  stood  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  his  sovereign  !  ”  It  was 
he  who  first  suggested  that  “  we  should  not  put  ourselves  out 

of  the  way  to  do  anything  for  posterity,  for  what  has  posterity 

• 

done  for  us  ?  ”  “  And  by  posterity,”  he  continued,  “  I  do  not 

mean  our  ancestors,  but  those  who  are  to  come  immediately 
after  them !  ” 

At  a  trial  in  the  Court  of  King’s  Bench,  in  1833,  between 
certain  music  publishers  as  to  an  alleged  piracy  of  an  arrange¬ 
ment  of  the  song  of  The  Old  English  Gentleman ,  Cooke,  the 
actor,  was  subpoenaed  as  a  witness  by  one  of  the  parties.  On  his 
cross-examination,  by  Sir  James  Scarlett,  afterward  Lord  Abin- 
ger,  for  the  opposite  side,  that  learned  counsel  questioned  him 
thus :  “  Kow,  sir,  you  say  that  the  two  melodies  are  the  same,  but 
different ;  now  what  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir?”  To  this  Tom 
promptly  answered  :  “  I  said  that  the  notes  in  the  two  copies 
were  alike, 'but  with  a  different  accent,  the  one  being  in  com¬ 
mon  time,  the  other  in  six-eight  time ;  and  consequently,  the 
position  of  the  accented  notes  was  different.”  “  How,  pray  sir, 
don’t  beat  about  the  bush,  but  explain  to  the  jury,  who  are 
supposed  to  know  nothing  about  music,  the  meaning  of  what 
you  call  accent.”  Cooke  :  “  Accent  in  music  is  a  certain  stress 
laid  upon  a  particular  note,  in  the  same  manner  as  you  would 
lay  a  stress  upon  any  given  word  for  the  purpose  of  being  better 


THE  HUMORS  OF  LAW. 


440 

understood.  Thus,  if  1  were  to  say  4  you  are  an  -ass’  it  rests 
on  ass;  but  if  I  were  to  say,  4 You  are  an  ass,5  it  rests  on  you, 
Sir  James.55  Shouts  of  laughter  by  the  whole  court  followed 
this  repartee.  Silence  at  length  having  been  obtained,  the 
judge,  with  much  seeming  gravity,  accosted  the  counsel  thus  : 
44  Are  you  satisfied,  Sir  James? 55  Sir  James  (who  had  become 
scarlet  in  more  than  name),  in  a  great  huff,  said,  44  The  witness 
may  go  down.” 

After  all  we  have  to  urge  against  the  law,  we  beg  to  ac¬ 
knowledge  allegiance  to  its  high  authority  ;  and,  as  to  its  ad¬ 
ministrators,  let  the  words  of  an  old  epigram  speak  for  us : 

“  When  we’ve  nothing  to  dread  from  the  law’s  sternest  frowns, 

•  We  all  laugh  at  the  barristers’  wigs,  bags,  and  gowns ; 

But  as  soon  as  we  want  them  to  sue  or  defend, 

Then  their  laughter  begins,  and  our  mirth’s  at  an  end.” 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS 


“  The  bright  mosaics,  that  with  storied  beauty 
The  floor  of  nature’s  temple  tesselate.” — Horace  Smith. 

“A  passion  for  flowers,”  wrote  Mrs.  Piemans,  u  is,  1  really 
think,  the  only  one  which  long  sickness  leaves  untouched  with 
its  chilling  influence.  Often,  during  a  weary  illness,  have  I 
looked  upon  new  books  with  perfect  apathy,  when,  if  a  friend 
has  sent  me  a  few  flowers,  my  heart  has  leapt  up  to  their  dreamy 
hues  and  odors,  with  a  sudden  sense  of  renovated  childhood — 
which  seems  to  me  one  of  the  mysteries  of  our  being.”  To  a 
cultivated  taste,  indeed,  flowers  ever  present  the  rarest  attrac¬ 
tions,  and  the  most  fascinating  charms.  Many-tinted  and 
many-voiced,  they  are  associated  with  all  that  we  share  in  the 


442 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


poetry  and  romance  of  life  : — they  deck,  alike,  the  sunny,  joy¬ 
ous  hours  of  youth,  the  Eden  bliss  of  the  bridal;  and  the  saintly 
associations  of  the  burial.  To  these,  and  all  life’s  minor  scenes, 
they  impart  a  glory  and  a  splendor  unapproachable  by  all  the 
appliances  of  art. 

“  Barren,  indeed,  were  this  world  of  ours 
Denied  the  sweet  smile  of  the  beautiful  flowers,” — 

since  they  not  only  adorn  and  enrich  the  various  phases  of 
our  earthly  life  with  their  myriad  forms  of  beauty,  but  they 
perfume  the  very  atmosphere  of  our  being  with  their  fragrant 
breath,  and  when  a-weary,  gladden  the  heart  that  is  open  to 
their  appeal. 

“  Not  a  tree, 

A  plant,  a  leaf,  a  blossom  but  contains 
A  folio  volume.  We  may  read,  and  read, 

And  read  again,  and  still  find  something  new, 

Something  to  please,  and  something  to  instruct, 

E’en  in  the  noisome  weed.” 

Poets  and  painters  have  ever  delighted  to  portray  the 
charms  of  nature,  under  whatever  phase  or  aspect  she  presents 
them :  as  much  when  decked  in  the  silvery  sheen  of  winter,  as 
when  arrayed  in  the  prismatic  hues  of  the  vernal  spring — when 
the  meadows  are  gemmed  with  buttercups  and  daisies,  and  the 
glorious  trees  of  the  forest  are  bursting  into  new  life  and  leafy 
beauty.  With  one  exception — that  of  love — no  subject  has,  to 
a  like  extent,  challenged  the  rich  and  quaint  device  of  the 
votaries  of  the  muse.  IIow  pleasant  an  hour  might  we  while 
away  by  citations  of  the  pleasurable  passages  of  the  poets,  who 
have  luxuriated  over  the  treasures  of  Flora  ! 

Leigh  Hunt  thus  delicately  makes  vocal  the  fairy  tribes : 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


443 


“  We  are  the  sweet  flowers,  bom  of  sunny  showers ; 

Think  (whene’er  you  see  us,  what  our  beauty  saith) — 

Utt^ance  mute  and  bright  of  some  unknown  delight, 

We  fill  the  air  with  pleasure,  by  our  simple  breath  ; 

All  who  see  us,  love  us  ;  we  befit  all  places ; 

Unto  sorrow  we  give  smiles, — and  unto  graces,  graces !  ” 

The  silent,  yet  persuasive  appeals  of  the  radiant  and  per¬ 
fumed  dowers  were  lovingly  heeded  by  the  bards  of  old,  who 
tuned  their  lyre  to  the  sweetest  melody  whenever  they  sang 
their  praises ;  Chaucer,  Spenser,  and  their  illustrious  successors 
in  the  priesthood  of  song,  down  to  the  pastoral  poet,  Wordsworth, 
have  derived  no  little  of  their  inspiration  therefrom.  It  was 
that  bard  of  Rydal  lake  that  confessed  they  stirred  within  him 
“  thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears.” 

Listen  to  his  chant, — how  daintily  he  syllables  their  names  : 

“  Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies  ; 

Let  them  live  upon  their  praises  ; 

Long  as  there ’s  a  sun  that  sets 
Primroses  will  have  their  glory ; 

Long  as  there  are  violets, 

They  will  have  a  place  in  story.” 

Flowers  have  not  only  a  symbolical  language  and  literature, 
they  also  indicate,  as  in  an  illuminated  calendar,  the  procession 
of  the  months  and  the  changes  of  the  seasons.  The  woods 
and  fields,  the  meadows  and  the  water-courses,  and  the  rocks 
and  hills,  are  alike  bedecked  and  beautified  with  these  floral 
gems. 

They  are  the  gorgeous  illuminations  of  the  book  of  nature, 
and  the  interpreters  of  her  mysteries.  A  few  there  are,  even 
in  this  prosaic  age,  who,  with  Leigh  Hunt,  confessed  to  a  faith 
in  the  fairy  lore  of  the  sweet  flowers  ;  and  who  among  the 
mists  of  the  moonlit  dell,  or  by  the  margin  of  some  sylvan 


444 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


stream,  see  sylphs  and  genii  nestling  amidst  the  modest  flowers 
Did  our  great  dramatist  dream,  when  he  sang  :  • 

‘  ‘  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 

Where  oxlips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows ; 

Quite  over-canopied  with  lush  woodbine, 

With  sweet  musk  roses  and  with  eglantine  ; 

There  sleeps  Titania,  sometime  of  the  night 
Lulled  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight  !  ” 

But  leaving  the  elfin  tribe,  let  us  bend  our  gaze  upon  the  • 
fairy  flowers  themselves,  awhile.  Their  very  name  is  suggestive 
of  all  that  is  fresh  and  fragrant  in  nature.  The  gems  that 
sparkle  in  her  diadem — the  rich  embroidery  and  glittering 
adornments  of  her  gayest  and  her  simplest  robes — the  pearls, 
the  rubies,  the  diamonds,  the  sapphires,  the  gorgeous  jewels 
that  enrich  and  beautify  creation — are  they  not  the  sweet 
flowers  ?  Who  loves  not  flowers  ?  The  highest  and  the  lowli¬ 
est,  the  rich  and  the  humble,  those  who  are  gifted  with  high 
intellect,  and  those  of  limited  capacity — all  unite  in  this  one 
sweet  sense  of  the  beautiful.  It  is  a  sad  house,  that  has  no 
flowers  in  it ;  a  hard  and  harsh  soul  who  can  let  the  glorious 
summer-time  glide  away,  and  find  no  pleasure  in  looking  upon 
these  choicest  gifts  of  nature.  A  poetic  fancy  will  indulge  a 
sweet  colloquy  with  these  beautiful  “  terrestrial  stars.” 

The  flowers  are,  indeed,  holy  things,  their  teachings  are  re¬ 
plete  with  sagacious  suggestions, 

“  And  be  is  happiest  who  bath  power 
To  gather  wisdom  from  a  flower, 

And  wake  his  heart,  in  every  hour, 

To  pleasant  gratitude.” 

« 

Horace  Smith,  in  his  beautiful  Hymn,  thus  apostrophizes 
them : 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


445 


u  Your  voiceless  lips,  O  flowers  !  are  living  preachers, 

Each  cup  a  pulpit,  every  leaf  a  book, 

Supplying  to  my  fancy  numerous  teachers 

From  loneliest  nook. 

“  Were  I  in  churchless  solitudes  remaining, 

Far  from  all  voice  of  teachers  or  divines, — 

My  soul  would  find  in  flowers  of  God's  ordaining — 

Priests,  Sermons,  Shrines  !  ” 

Floral  language  is  a  beautiful  system  of  symbolism — a  bril¬ 
liant  code  of  hieroglyphics ;  and  to  those  who  can  scan  their 
mystic  meaning,  how  eloquently  they  speak !  Many  there  are, 
however,  whose  ears  are  not  attent,  and  whose  souls  are  not 
attuned  to  the  soft  music  of  their  speech.  To  such  an  one : 

“The  primrose  by  the  water’s  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  is  to  him, 

And  it  is  nothing  more  !  ” 

“  There  are  two  books,5’  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  “  from 
whence  I  collect  my  divinity  ;  besides  that  written  one  of  God, 
another  of  His  servant,  nature,  that  universal  and  public  manu¬ 
script  that  lies  expanded  unto  the  eyes  of  all.  Surely  the 
heathens  knew  better  how  to  join  and  read  these  mystical 
letters,  than  we  Christians,  who  cast  a  more  careless  eye  on 
these  common  hieroglyphics,  and  disdain  to  suck  divinity  from 
the  flowers  of  nature.’1 

“Ye  poetry  of  woods  !  romance  of  fields ! 

Nature’s  imagination  bodied  bright ! 

Earth’s  floral  page,  that  high  instruction  yields  ! — 

For  not,  oh,  not  alone  to  charm  our  sight, 

Gave  God  your  blooming  forms,  your  leaves  of  light. 

Ye  speak  a  language  which  ice  yet  may  learn — 

A  divination  of  mysterious  might ! 

And  glorious  thoughts  may  angel-eyes  discern 

Flower- writ  in  mead  and  vale,  where’er  man’s  footsteps  turn.” 


446 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


With  what  a  rich  profusion  of  variegated  and  glowing  beauty 
has  the  beneficent  Creator  bedecked  forest,  field,  and  meadow  ! 
Not  only  is  this  prodigal  display  of  floral  gems  to  be  seen  gar¬ 
nishing  the  cultivated  garden  and  the  gay  parterre  ;  but  even 
the  wayside,  the  wild  heath,  and  the  rugged  mountain-side  are 
alike  glorified  with  the  presence  of  the  beautiful  buds  and 
blossoms. 

“Everywhere  about  us  are  they  glowing — 

Some,  like  stars,  to  tell  us  spring  is  bom  ; 

Others,  their  blue  eyes  with  tears  o’erflowing, 

Stand  like  Ruth  amid  the  golden  com. 

Not  alone  in  Spring’s  armorial  bearing, 

And  in  Summer’s  green  emblazoned  fields, 

But  in  arms  of  brave  old  Autumn’s  wearing, 

In  the  centre  of  his  brazen  shield  ; 

Not  alone  in  her  vast  dome  of  glory, 

Not  on  graves  of  bird  and  beast  alone, 

But  in  old  cathedrals  high  and  hoary, 

On  the  tombs  of  heroes,  carved  in  stone  ; 

In  the  cottage  of  the  rudest  peasant ; 

In  ancestral  homes,  whose  crumbling  towers, 

Speaking  of  the  Past  unto  the  Present, 

Tell  us  of  the  ancient  Games  of  flowers.”  * 

Flowers  are,  indeed,  meet  objects  of  our  reverence  as  well  as 
admiration ;  for  are  they  not  the  wondrous  manifestations  of 
the  infinite  wisdom  and  power,  as  well  as  beneficence,  of  the 
Creator  ;  and  what  a  lesson  of  the  “  Fatherhood  of  God  ”  did 
He  “  who  spake  as  never  man  spake  55  open  unto  us  from  the 
pale  petals  of  the  Lily.  IIow  many  glowing  floral  allegories 
from  the  book  of  Nature  have  been  embalmed  in  the  book  of 
Grace. 

How  dormant  and  obtuse  must  that  mind  be,  that  fails  to 
derive  a  feeling  of  elevating  and  refined  delight  from  the  con¬ 
templation  of  these  pearly  gems,  that  grace  the  bosom  of  our 
Mother  Earth — the  jewelry  with  which  Heaven  has  so  richly 


*  Longfellow. 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


447 


adorned  her !  Yet  too  many  there  are,  “  in  the  close  city 
pent,”  for  whom  these  gay  and  brilliant  things  possess  nc 
charms ;  they  prefer  the  sordid  pursuit  of  gold,  to  the  soul- 
elevating  study  of  Nature  in  all  her  enamelled  beauty;  yet 
what  can  be  more  deliciously  refreshing  to  the  vision  than  to 
gaze  upon  her  ever-varying  charms  ? 

Woman,  from  her  finer  sensibilities  and  keener  appreciation 
of  the  beautiful,  possesses  an  innate  passion  for  buds  and  blos¬ 
soms,  and  these  emblems  of  innocence,  grace,  and  beauty  natu¬ 
rally  enlist  her  sympathies.  She  is  indeed,  herself,  the  queenly 
blossom  of  Paradise,  and  her  peerless  charms  find  their  nearest 
emblems  in  the  blushing  tints,  the  nectar  sweets,  and  glowing 
beauties  of  Flora.  Hence  the  fitting  grace  with  which  she 
prefers  to  cull  from  the  leafy  temple  of  the  goddess,  the  rarest 
gems  to  heighten  her  fascinations,  rather  than  costly  pearls  or 
the  dazzling  decorations  of  art. 

Flowers,  it  will  be  recollected,  are  used  for  national  emblems  : 
thus,  that  of  England  is  the  rose,  the  queen  of  flowers  ;  France 
has  adopted  the  iris ;  Ireland,  the  shamrock ;  and  Scotland,  the 
thistle. 

The  imitative  art  has  ever  been  devoted  to  the  arrangement 
and  combination  of  these  cherished  objects.  The  designs  that 
flowers  have  afforded  to  painting,  sculpture,  and  architecture 
also  furnish  a  fruitful  theme. 

In  the  distribution  of  honors  and  badges  of  distinction, 
Nature  is  generally  appealed  to  ;  poets  were  crowned  with 
bays,  and  conquerors  with  laurel ;  and  of  the  several  heraldic 
decorations,  many  of  the  emblems  are  derived  from  Flora. 
On  the  triumphant  return  of  a  victorious  hero,  garlands  of  gay 
flowers  are  wreathed  and  dispensed  by  fair  hands.  There  are 
certain  rural  festivals  of  ancient  origin,  a  few  of  which  are  still 
extant  in  some  parts  of  Europe,  at  which  the  resources  of  Flora 


443 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


are  called  into  requisition  ;  such  as  that  of  the  Way  Queen,  the 
festival  of  the  Rose,  Harvest  Home,  etc. 

Augustine  once  said,  “  When  no  one  asks  me  what  is  Time, 
I  know  it  very  well ;  but  I  do  not  know  it  when  I  am  asked.*’ 
“  One  might  say  as  much  of  a  Flower — of  its  beauty,  at  least, 
which  is  the  prey  of  Time,” — was  the  remark  of  Rousseau. 

We  do  not,  of  course,  refer  to  its  botanical  definition,  but 
its  poetical — for  is  not  the  poetry  of  the  plant  its  highest  trans¬ 
formation  of  beauty  ? 

“  The  flowers  all  tell  to  thee  a  sacred,  mystic  story, 

How  moistened  earthy  dnst  can  wear  celestial  glory  ! 

On  thousand  stems  is  found  the  love -inscription  graven, 

How  beautiful  is  earth  when  it  can  image  heaven.”  * 

To  be  a  lover  of  flowers,  it  is  not  indispensable  that  one 
should  be  a  floriculturist,  or  a  botanist,  but  it  is  necessary  to 
have  a  soul  for  the  beautiful. 

Flowers  are  always  on  the  sunny  side  of  things  ;  and  we,  too, 
should  certainly  keep  there  as  much  as  we  possibly  can. 

“  Happy  are  they,”  said  Gray,  “  who  can  create  a  rose-tree, 
or  erect  a  honeysuckle.”  Who  can  fail  to  respond  to  the  senti¬ 
ment?  Linnseus  constructed  a  dial  of  flowers,  indicative  of 
their  times  of  expanding  and  closing,  by  planting  them  in  such 
a  manner  as  that  at  each  succeeding  hour  a  blossom  should 
unfold. 

As  the  thrice-welcome  harbinger  of  spring,  the  Snowdrop 
first  claims  our  notice.  Look  at  its  pleasing  contrast  of  white 
and  green,  symbolizing,  at  once,  the  livery  of  winter  and  of 
spring ;  suggestive,  too,  of  death  aiid  the  resurrection.  The 
pale,  gentle  snowdrop  teaches  us  all  the  sweet  lesson  of  trust 
and  patience,  when  memory  is  picturing  the  cherished  past ; 
hope,  by  its  floral  emblem,  is  thus  pointing  us  onward  to  the 

*  Riikert. 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


449 


glorified  future.  Among  the  first-born  flowers  of  spring,  also, 
is  the  Daisy  (day’s  eye) ;  it  is  the  poets’  favorite  ;  from  Chaucer 
to  Burns  and  Wordsworth  have  its  praises  been  chanted. 

It  is  supposed  to  have  been  so  called  from  the  nature  of  its 
blossom,  which  expands  at  the  dawn  of  day  and  closes  at  sun¬ 
set. 

A  poetical  superstition  is  attached  to  this  flower,  which  is 
found  to  grace  both  mountain  and  meadow,  and  which  Words¬ 
worth  designates  “  the  Pearl  of  Spring,”  which  makes  it  a  test 
of  friendship.  It  is  a  custom  with  simple-hearted  rustics, 
when  they  wish  to  ascertain  whether  a  professed  attachment  is 
sincere,  for  the  trysting  parties  to  pull  off,  one  by  one,  the  white 
rays  of  the  flowers,  saying  alternately,  “  Does  he  love  me  ?  ” 
“  Does  he  not  ?  ”  until  they  stripped  off  all  the  rays  of  the  daisy. 
If  the  first  appeal  happens  to  occur  at  the  last  ray,  the  conclu¬ 
sion  is  believed  to  be  auspicious. 

The  contemplation  of  flowers  is  a  theme  rife  with  interest  to 
all  classes  :  the  child,  fascinated  by  their  exceeding  beauty,  is 
delighted  to  gather  them  into  a  bright  bouquet ;  the  fair 
maiden  seeks  to  employ  the  expressive  symbols  to  reveal  the 
gentle  emotions  of  her  heart ;  while  the  lover  of  nature  luxuri¬ 
ates  over  their  variegated  charms,  or  scans  with  inquisitive  gaze 
their  manifold  mysteries. 

“  In  Eastern  lands  they  talk  in  flowers, 

And  tell  in  a  garland  their  loves  and  cares : 

Each  blossom  that  blooms  in  their  garden  bowers, 

On  its  leaves  a  mystic  language  bears.” 

Well  might  Izaak  Walton  exclaim,  as  he  reclined  on  a  prim¬ 
rose  bank,  and  bent  his  enraptured  eye  upon  the  enamelled 
meadow  before  him,  “I  regard  them  as  Charles,  the  Emperor 
did  Florence :  that  they  are  too  pleasant  to  be  looked  upon 
except  on  holidays.” 

29 


450 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


With  the  Primrose  we  are  apt  instinctively  to  associate 
rural  sights  and  sounds  ;  it  is  so  suggestive  of  a  thatched  cottage 
in  a  woody  dell,  a  rippling  stream,  and  the  rustic  accessories 
of  peaceful  pastoral  life.  The  “  meek  and  soft-eyed  Primrose  ” 
is,  in  the  vocabulary  of  Flora,  expressive  of  youthful  bloom. 

The  generic  name  of  this  flower  is  derived  from  primus , 
it  being  one  of  the  firstlings  of  the  spring. 

Let  us  now  cull  a  bunch  of  fresh  violets,  and  take  a  glance 
at  their  wondrous  beauty.  Violets  are  among  the  sweetest 
flowers  that  deck  the  woods. 

These  exquisite  little  woodland  fairies  have  inspired  many 
poetic  pens,  and  many  have  sung  their  modest  charms  in 
melodious  numbers.  Xot  to  speak  of  their  exquisite  aroma,  it 
is  impossible  to  look  into  their  deep  cups  without  being  struck 
with  their  rare  beauty.  And  we  no  sooner  become  impressed 
with  this  feeling,  than  we  begin  to  recollect  what  Shakspeare 
has  said  about  them — what  beautiful  and  passionate  pictures 
they  have  formed,  and  what  lovable  spots  they  nestle  in,  in 
the  realm  of  song. 

That  the  Violet  was  a  favorite  with  Shakespeare,  is  evident  by 
the  beautiful  simile  he  makes  Perdita  deliver  in  the  Winter's 
Tale : 

“  Violets  dim, 

But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno’s  eyes, 

Or  Cytherea’s  breath.” 

And  Milton  makes  echo  to  dwell  amongst  Violets: 

“  Sweet  echo,  sweetest  nymph,  that  liv’st  unseenj 
By  slow  Meander’s  margent  green, 

And  in  the  violet-embroidered  vale.” 

Then  we  have  to  notice  the  Pansy  (from  Pensee ,  thought) : 

“  Styled  by  sportive  fancy’s  better  choice 
A  Thought — the  Heart's  Ease — or  Forget-me-not , 
Decking  alike  the  peasant’s  garden  plot, 

And  castle’s  proud  parterre.” 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


451 


The  tints  of  this  variable  flower  are  even  more  numerous 
than  the  names  that  have  been  bestowed  upon  it ;  and  these 
are  some  half  a  dozen  more  than  we  have  given  above. 

The  Wallflower ,  in  floral  language,  is  the  emblem  of  fidelity 
in  misfortune,  from  the  fact  that  it  is  found  attached  to  walls 
and  ruins.  There  is  another  little  favorite  flower  of  Shake¬ 
speare,  which  he  so  daintily  introduces  in  one  of  Ariel’s  songs 
of  the  Temjoest : 

“  Where  the  bee  sucks,  there!  lurk  I ; 

In  a  cowslip’s  bell  I  lie  ; 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry.” 

The  Narcissus  is  the  generic  name  of  a  beautiful  family 
of  bulbs  so  celebrated  by  the  ancient  poets  under  that  name  ; 
but  the  moderns  have,  with  Herrick  at  their  head,  chosen  to 
sing  their  praises  under  the  name — Daffodil.  Here  we  have 
his  beautiful  lines : 

“  Fair  Daffodils,  we  weep  to  see  you  haste  away  so  soon; 

As  yet  the  early-rising  sun  has  not  attained  his  noon : 

Stay,  stay,  until  the  hastening  day 
Has  run  but  to  the  even-song ; 

And,  having  prayed  together,  we 
Will  go  with  you  along.” 

Another  species  of  this  group,  distinguished  by  its  rush¬ 
like  foliage,  is  known  as  the  Jonquil  /  this  is  the  most  fragrant 
of  all  the  varieties  of  the  genus.  The  haunts  of  these  flowers 
are  the  shady  banks  of  rivulets  and  streams ;  hence  their  my¬ 
thological  name. 

The  Hyacinth  has  also  been  ever  a  pet  flower  with  the  poets, 
from  Homer  down  to  our  own  times.  Crowns  of  Hyacinth  were 
worn  by  the  young  Greek  Virgins  who  assisted  at  the  nuptial 
ceremonv.  One  of  the  varieties  of  this  flower  is  called  the 
Blue-bell,  from  the  bell-shape  and  color  of  its  blossoms. 


452 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


Then  there  are  those  queenly  spring  blossoms,  the  sweet- 
scented  Anemone  /  and  “  the  pearl-like  buds  ”  of  the  odorous 
May ,  or  Hawthorn ,  symbolical  of  conjugal  love. 

The  Tulip ,  with  its  numerous  varieties  of  color,  has  been, 
from  time  immemorial,  in  the  East,  the  token-flower  indicative 
of  a  declaration  of  love.  The  Lily  has  seemed  to  acquire  some¬ 
what  “  an  odor  of  sanctity  ”  from  the  fact  that  our  Lord  made 
it  the  occasion  of  his  beautiful  appeal  to  our  trust  and  faith 
in  the  divine  Providence.  Keats  thus  refers  to  this  delicate 
flower : 

“No  flower  amid  the  garden  fairer  grows, 

Than  the  sweet  Lily  of  the  lowly  vale, 

The  qneen  of  flowers  !  ” 

How  gracefully  its  perfumed  bells  are  suspended  on  the 
stem,  and  how  glowing  the  contrast  of  its  snowy  corollas  with 
its  bright  green  leaves!  The  Fleur-de-lis  (a  contraction  of 
Fleur  de  Louis)  has  no  affinity  with  the  Lily,  but  is  known  as 
the  Iris  •  it  has  long  been  emblematically  used  in  France  as 
part  of  the  national  arms. 

But  we  have  not  alluded  to  the  grand  array  of  Pinks ,  Car¬ 
nations,  and  Gillyflowers ,  the  full-blown  beauties  of  the  sum¬ 
mer  months.  These  gay  flowers  are  almost  as  great  favorites 
as  the  Pose.  The  prismatic  Larkspur  claims  also  a  place 
among  the  most  brilliant  favorites  of  Flora.  The  Dahlia,  so 
named  after  the  Swedish  botanist,  Dalil ,  is  a  native  of  the 
marshes  of  Peru ;  the  number  of  its  known  varieties  is,  we  be¬ 
lieve,  over  five  hundred.  But  it  is  time  we  did  homage  to  that 
most  regal  of  flowers — the  queenly  Pose — 

‘  ‘  The  sweetest  flower 

That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower.” 

The  Pose  of  Sharon ,  one  of  the  most  exquisite  of  flowers  in 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


453 


shape  and  hue,  has  not  only  a  Biblical  association,  but  it  is  re¬ 
garded  by  the  Orientals  as  a  symbol  of  the  resurrection,  from 
the  fact  that  when  the  blossom  dies,  it  is  carried  by  the  wind 
elsewhere,  and  again  takes  root,  and  blossoms. 

The  origin  of  the  rose’s  hue  has  been  made  the  subject  of  a 
beautiful  legend  by  Carey,  thus : 

“  As  erst,  in  Eden’s  blissful  bowers, 

Young  Eve  surveyed  her  countless  flowers, 

An  opening  rose  of  purest  white 

She  marked,  with  eye  that  beamed  delight ; 

Its  leaves  she  kissed,  and  straight  it  drew 
From  Beauty’s  lip  the  vermeil  hue  !  ” 


The  rose  is  replete  with  legendary  lore;  it  was  the  fa¬ 
vorite  flower  at  classic  festivals  ;  showers  of  roses  adorned  the 
couches  of  the  guests  at  Cleopatra’s  sumptuous  banquet  to 
Mark  Antony.  It  was  also  used  as  an  emblem  of  chivalry  by  the 
knights  of  the  middle  ages.  The  rival  factions  of  the  Houses 
of  York  and  Lancaster,  which  entailed  some  thirty  years’  civil 
war  in  England,  wore  as  their  respective  insignia,  the  white  and 
red  rose.  And  the  name  Rosary ,  from  rosa,  was  first  given  to 
a  string  of  beads,  in  1571,  in  memory  of  the  victory  of  the 
Christians  over  the  Turks.  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  sent  to  Bon- 
sard,  for  his  beautiful  poetry  on  this  chef-d’oeuvre  of  the  vege¬ 
table  kingdom,  a  magnificent  rose  of  silver,  valued  at  five 
hundred  guineas. 

“  There  is  one  circumstance  connected  with  the  rose,  which 
renders  it  a  more  true  and  striking  emblem  of  earthly  pleasure 
than  any  other  flower — it  bears  a  thorn.  While  its  odorous 
breath  is  floating  on  the  summer  gale,  and  its  blushing  cheek, 
half  hid  amongst  the  sheltering  leaves,  seems  to  woo  and  yet 
shrink  from  the  beholder’s  gaze,  touch  but  with  adventurous 
hand  the  garden  queen,  and  you  are  pierced  with  her  protect- 


454 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


in g  thorns ;  would  you  pluck  the  rose  and  weave  it  into  a  gar¬ 
land  for  the  brow  you  love  best,  that  brow  will  be  wounded.”  * 

The  rose  is,  moreover,  in  floral  rhetoric,  symbolical  of  the 
tender  passion ;  and  its  blushing  beauty  is  well  deserving  of 
the  honor,  for  what  other  gem  in  the  diadem  of  Flora  pos¬ 
sesses  % 

“  Such  blaze  of  beauty  as  translates 
To  dullest  hearts  the  dialect  of  love  ”  ? 

But  we  have  to  turn  from  this  stately  and  peerless  flower, 
although  much  more  might  be  said  or  sung  in  its  praise. 

It  has  been  well  said  that  “  in  the  East  men  care  little  for 
the  flowers  of  rhetoric,  while  the  women  are  well  versed  in  the 
rhetoric  of  flowers.  A  bouquet  is  a  discourse,  with  its  exordium 
and  its  peroration ;  each  blossom  is  a  Ciceronian  period.  The 
most  delicate  shades  of  sentiment,  the  most  subtle  ideas  of  the 
heart’s  metaphysics,  can  all  be  expressed  in  the  language  of 
flowers.”  f 

One  of  the  most  curious  and  interesting  specimens  of  the 
floral  kingdom  is  the  so-called  “  Besurrection-flower.”  When 
closed  it  resembles  a  poppy-head,  but  when  its  blossoms  are 
expanded  it  looks  somewhat  like  the  Passion-flower,  with  radia¬ 
tions  like  a  star.  Its  botanical  history  is  somewhat  involved  in 
obscurity.  It  has  been  supposed  to  be  a  type  or  variety  of  the 
long-lost  Bose  of  Jericho,  also  called  the  Bose  of  Sharon  and 
Star  of  Betl dehem,  from  the  fact  that  it  presents  some  resem¬ 
blance  to  the  flower  sculptured  on  two  of  the  tombs  of  the 
Crusaders,  in  the  Temple  Church,  London.  There  is  a  Califor¬ 
nian  plant  also  called  by  the  same  name,  from  the  fact  that  its 
root  and  fibres  are  contracted  and  of  brown  color  when  kept 
from  moisture,  but  after  being  put  into  water,  the  leaves  in  a 
short  time  become  green  again.  The  Scarlet  Pimpernel  is 
one  of  the  “  English  Cottager’s  ”  favorite  flowers ;  for  it  serves 

\  So.  Lit.  Miss. ,  7. 


*  Mrs.  Ellis. 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


455 


him  for  a  time-teller  as  well  as  an  indicator  of  the  weather ; 
upon  the  approach  of  rain  it  closes  itself  np.  A  similar  sensi¬ 
tiveness  to  rain  and  the  return  of  evening  is  observable  also 
in  the  familiar  Morning-glory ,  or  Convolvulus ,  with  its  many- 
colored  blossoms. 

The  part  from  which  the  aroma  proceeds  is  various  in  differ¬ 
ent  plants ;  most  frequently  it  exists  in  the  blooming  corolla  ; 
it  is  thus  with  the  honeysuckle,  the  hawthorn,  and  many 
others.  Sometimes  it  is  found  in  the  herbage,  as  the  sweet- 
brier,  the  sweet  woodruff,  or  the  ground  ivy ;  it  is  even  occa¬ 
sionally  in  the  root.  So  pungent  is  the  scent  of  some  flowers, 
that  persons  of  a  nervous  temperament  are  unable  to  inhale 
it  without  suffering  acute  pain ;  some  will  be  affected  with 
headache  by  the  smell  of  mignonette,  the  hawthorn,  the  lily, 
the  lilac,  and  the  laburnum.  The  fragrance  yielded  by  some 
plants,  when  crushed,  has  suggested  many  beautiful  images  to 
poets :  Moore  alludes  to  this  circumstance  when,  referring  to 
the  only  consolation  in  sorrow,  he  says : 

‘  ‘  And  thou  canst  heal  the  broken  heart, 

Which  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 

Breathe  sweetness  out  of  woe.” 

Leigh  Hunt  has  the  following  genial  passage  touching  the 
perfume  of  flowers : 

“  What  world  of  mystery  everywhere  hangs  about  us  and 
within  ns!  Who  can,  even  in  imagination,  penetrate  to  the 
depths  of  the  commonest  of  the  phenomena  of  our  daily  life  ? 
Take,  for  instance,  one  of  those  pots  of  Narcissi.  We  have 
ourselves  had  a  plant  of  the  variety  known  as  soleil  ctfor,  in 
flower,  in  a  sitting-room  for  six  weeks,  during  the  depth  of 
winter,  giving  forth  the  whole  of  that  time,  without  (so  far  as 
we  know)  ceasing,  even  during  sleep  (for  we  need  hardly  tell 
our  readers  that  plants  do  sleep),  the  same  full  stream  of  fra- 


456 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


grance.  Love  itself  does  not  seem  to  preserve  more  absolutely 
its  wealth,  while  most  liberally  dispensing  it !  That  fragrance 
has  a  material  basis,  though  we  cannot  detect  it  by  our  finest 
tests.  What  millions  of  millions  of  atoms  must  go  to  the  for¬ 
mation  of  even  a  single  gust,  as  it  were,  of  this  divine  flower- 
breath  !  Yet  this  goes  on,  through  seconds,  minutes,  hours, 
days,  weeks,  and  ceases  only  with  the  health  of  the  flower 
petals.  Where,  then,  in  these  petals — these  thin,  unsubstantial 
cream-flakes — may  we  look  to  find  stored  up  all  these  in¬ 
exhaustible  supplies !  Where,  indeed  ?  and  if  they  are  not 
stored  up,  but  newly  created  as  given  forth — is  not  that 
even  more  wonderful?  Would  that  any  one  could  show  us 
the  nature  and  modes  of  operation  of  such  miraculous  chemis¬ 
try.” 

Both  the  Egyptian  Lotus  and  the  Water  Lily  expand  their 
blossoms  in  the  sunshine,  and  during  the  day  onty,  closing 
them  towards  evening,  when  they  recline  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  or  sink  beneath  it. 

The  jessamine,  also,  with  its  dark  green  leaves,  and  little 
silver  stars,  saluting  us  with  its  delicious  scent,  and  impregnating 
the  surrounding  atmosphere  with  odoriferous  sweets,  has  been 
the  recognized  symbol  of  poetic  sentiment  with  the  bards  of 
all  ages. 

Jessica,  the  French  naturalist,  says  he  was  intoxicated  with 
delight  when  first  he  discovered  that  fragrant  blossom — the 
Heliotrope,  on  the  mountains  of  the  Cordilleras.  When  first 
introduced  to  France,  no  vase  was  thought  too  expensive  or 
precious  for  the  growth  of  this  odorous  plant. 

Like  the  “  Morning-glory,55  or  Convolvulus,  and  the  sensitive 
plant,  there  are  other  flowers  and  herbs,  which  close  up  their 
leaves  and  blossoms  during  the  night  and  re-open  them  with 
the  return  of  day.  This  has  been  called  “  the  sleep  of  plants.55 
The  slightest  touch  of  the  “  Sensitive  Plant,55  however,  causes  its 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


457 


leaves  suddenly  to  collapse.  Keats’  line  lines  come  to  our  mem¬ 
ory  lie  re : 

‘  ‘  A  sensitive  plant  in  a  garden  grew, 

And  the  young  winds  fed  it  with  silver  dew  ; 

And  it  opened  its  fan-like  leaves  to  the  light, 

And  closed  them  beneath  the  kisses  of  night !  ” 

The  Victoria  Eegia,  or  gigantic  Water-lily,  is  unrivalled  among 
the  aquatic  flowers.  The  entire  plant  measures  about  twenty 
feet ;  it  is  a  native  of  Central  America,  and  is  found  upon  the 
marshes  of  the  Amazon  and  its  tributaries.  This  superb  plant 
was  discovered  about  forty  years  ago ;  and  a  colossal  illustrated 
volume,  descriptive  of  a  beautiful  specimen  of  this  lily,  at  the 
Botanical  Gardens,  Kew,  England,  has  been  published  by 
Hooker.  D’Orbigny  describes  the  one  he  saw  as  overspreading 
nearly  a  mile  of  water  with  its  huge,  round,  and  curiously  mar¬ 
gined  leaves,  among  which  glittered  here  and  there  the  magni¬ 
ficent  white  and  pink  flowers,  scenting  the  air  with  their  deli¬ 
cious  fragrance.  One  of  these  gigantic  leaves  measured  six  feet 
five  inches  in  diameter,  and  was  as  heavy  as  a  man  could  carry ; 
and  yet  these  leaves  float  by  means  of  air-cells,  contained  in 
their  thick,  projecting,  innumerable  nerves.  Its  seeds,  when 
roasted,  form  a  valuable  article  of  food,  and  resemble  maize. 

One  of  the  most  splendid  of  the  Cactus  species  is  the  Cereus 
Grandiflorus ,  or  Kight-blooming  Cereus,  the  blossoms  of  which 
begin  to  expand  about  sunset,  and  are  fully  blown  about  mid¬ 
night.  During  its  short  continuance,  there  is  scarcely  any  flower 
of  greater  known  beauty.  When  several  of  these  magnificent 
flowers  are  open  at  once  upon  a  single  plant,  they  seem  like 
stars  shining  out  in  all  their  lustre. 

Of  all  objects  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  the  ivy  is  perhaps 
one  of  the  most  poetical.  It  is  at  once  suggestive  of  some 
ancient  religious  fane,  or  some  venerable  ruin,  some  old 
cathedral  or  monastic  remains;  for  around  such  cherished 


458 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


relics  of  the  past  it  loves  to  cling  and  to  beautify  with  its 
luxuriant  and  fanciful  festoons.  We  all  remember  Dickens’s 
beautiful  tribute  to  it  : 

u  Oil !  a  dainty  plant  is  the  Ivy  green,  that  creepeth  o’er  ruins  old  ! 

♦  sfc  %  s|c  s|c  5jc 

The  brave  old  plant  in  its  lonely  days  shall  fatten  upon  the  past  ; 

For  the  stateliest  building  man  can  raise  is  the  Ivy’s  food  at  last ! 
Creeping  where  no  life  is  seen, 

A  rare  old  plant  is  the  Ivy  green.” 

The  American  Aloe,  of  the  Pine-tree  tribe,  is  a  gorgeous 
evergreen:  its  flower-stem  is  from  twenty  to  thirty  feet  in 

height;  when  in  flower  it  is  of  surpassing  beauty.  It  was 

formerly  supposed  to  blossom  once  in  a  century  (and  hence  it 
was  sometimes  called  the  Century  Plant),  and  then  to  die ; 
but  it  usually  flowers  about  every  tenth  year. 

We  are  all  familiar  with  the  witch-hazel,  and  its  mystic  cu¬ 
rative  virtues.  Here  is  an  apostrophe  to  it : 

“  Mysterious  plant !  whose  golden  tresses  wave 
With  a  sad  beauty  in  the  dying  year, 

Blooming  amid  November’s  frost  severe, 

Like  the  pale  corpse-light  o’er  the  recent  grave  ! 

If  shepherds  tell  us  true,  thy  word  hath  power, 

With  gracious  influence,  to  avert  the  harm 
Of  ominous  planets,  and  the  fatal  charm 
Of  spirits  wandering  at  the  midnight  hour  ; 

And  thou  canst  point  where  buried  treasures  lie. 

But  yet  to  me  thou  art  an  emblem  high 
Of  patient  virtue,  to  the  Christian  given, 

Unchang’d  and  bright,  when  all  is  dark  beside  ; 

Our  shield  from  wild  temptations,  and  our  guide 
To  treasures  for  the  just  laid  up  in  heaven.” 

In  the  economy  of  nature  plants  give  out  small  portions  of 
carbonic  acid  gas  at  night;  but  during  the  day  they  absorb  it, 
retaining  its  carbon,  and  thus  restore  the  equilibrium  of  the 
atmosphere,  by  again  exhaling  the  oxygen. 


FACTS  AXD  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWEKS. 


459 


Many  interesting  particulars  might  be  adduced  touching  the 
botanic  history  of  ornamental  plants — for  instance,  the  almost 
infinite  variety  of  their  leaves  and  blossoms.  Some  leaves  are 
smooth,  others  are  hairy  on  their  surface — which  latter  kind, 
when  laden  with  dew,  glisten  like  diamonds  in  the  sun’s  ray. 
Leaves  are,  in  the  vegetable  kingdom,  what  lungs  are  in  the 
animal ;  this  may  be  readily  ascertained  by  placing  a  young 
vine-leaf  over  a  wine  glass,  when,  if  it  be  a  hot  day,  you  will 
very  soon  find  the  glass  quite  damp,  and  in  the  course  of  a  short 
time  the  moisture,  from  the  emitted  perspiration,  will  run  down 
in  drops.  It  is  the  chemical  action  of  light  upon  leaves  and 
stems  that  causes  their  green  color ;  if  kept  a  long  period  in 
darkness,  they  would  become  white  or  colorless. 

Flowers  were  not  only  used  for  personal  decoration  among 
the  Homans ;  they  were  made  the  accessories  of  religion. 
Their  priests,  altars,  and  even  their  sacrifices  were  adorned 
with  these  delicate  emblems.  Their  statues  were  also  crowned 
with  them:  hence  Yenus  is  sometimes  represented  wearing 
roses,  Juno  with  the  lily,  and  Ceres  with  her  hair  entwined 
with  wheat  and  poppies.  The  bridal  wreath  is  still  the  beauti¬ 
ful  emblem  of  innocence  and  truth.  The  Cypress,  in  all  na¬ 
tions  an  emblem  of  sorrow,  was  used  by  the  Homans  to  deck 
the  dwellings  of  the  deceased,  because,  if  once  cut  down,  that 
plant  will  not  spring  up  again  ;  it  had,  therefore,  a  true  signifi¬ 
cance  in  their  case,  since  they  believed  death  to  be  an  eternal 
sleep ;  with  the  more  cheering  faith  of  Christianity,  the  ever¬ 
green  is  the  emblem.  The  custom  of  garnishing  the  graves 
of  the  departed  with  flowers  is  a  universal  and  felicitous  one — 
full  of  eloquent  appeals  to  the  heart  of  sorrowing  survivors ; 
for  while  they  form  expressive  emblems  of  the  frailty  of  the 
present,  are  they  not  also  the  brilliant  prophecy  of  a  glorious 
immortality  ? 

Many  of  the  choicest  of  Flora’s  beauties  have  been  christened 


460 


FACTS  AND  FANCIES  ABOUT  FLOWERS. 


with  sacred  memorial  names  by  the  early  botanists.  Thus  we 
have :  Holy  Rhood-flower,  Mary-gold,  Passion-flower,  Cross  of 
Jerusalem,  the  Cross  of  Malta,  etc.  The  floral  .nomenclature 
of  more  modern  times  is  more  for  the  poetic  sentiment :  Forget, 
me-not,  Fox-glove  (i.e.,  folks’  or  fairy  glove),  Daisy  (day’s  eye), 
Night-shade,  Heart’s  Ease,  etc. 

Adieu,  then,  to  the  sweet  sisterhood  of  the  fairy  Flowers, 
and  let  our  farewell  tribute  be  a  paean  of  praise  to  their  Great 
Author,  who  has  so  lavishly  beautified  our  pathway  of  life  with 
their  fragrance  and  their  smiles. 

“  Full  dull  the  eye,  and  dull  the  heart,  that  cannot  feel  how  fair, 

Amid  all  beauty,  beautiful  their  dainty  blossoms  are.” 


LITERARY"  LARCENIES. 

“  For  out  of  the  olde  fieldes,  as  men  saithe, 

Cometh  all  this  newe  com  fro  yere  to  yere : 

And  out  of  olde  bookes,  in  good  faithe, 

Cometh  all  this  newe  science  that  men  lere.” — Chaucer. 

Originality  has  been  defined  “  unconscious  or  undetected 
imitation.”  “  As  for  originality,”  wrote  Byron,  in  liis  journal, 
“  all  pretentions  to  it  are  ridiculous ;  4  there  is  nothing  new  un¬ 
der  the  sun.5  ”  Moore,  once  observing  Byron  with  a  book  full 
of  paper-marks,  asked  him  what  it  was.  “  Only  a  book,”  he 
answered,  u  from  which  I  am  trying  to  crib;  as  I  do  whenever  I 
can,  and  that’s  the  way  I  get  the  character  of  an  original  poet.” 


462 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


“  Though  in  imputing  to  himself  premeditated  plagiarism,”  ob¬ 
serves  his  biographer,  “  he  was,  of  course,  but  jesting  ;  it  was, 
I  am  inclined  to  think,  his  practice,  when  engaged  in  the  com¬ 
position  of  any  work,  to  excite  thus  his  vein,  by  the  perusal  of 
others  on  the  same  subject.”  “  When  I  was  a  young  man,” 
says  Goldsmith,  “  being  anxious  to  distinguish  myself,  I  was 
perpetually  starting  new  propositions ;  but  I  soon  gave  this 
over,  for  I  found  that  generally  what  wTas  new  was  false. 
Strictly  speaking,  we  may  be  original  without  being  new; 
the  thought  may  be  our  own,  and  yet  commonplace.” 

On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  admitted,  with  Pollok,  that 
while  “  the  siccaneous  critic  or  the  meagre  scribbler  may  hang 
his  head  in  despair,  and  murmur  out  that  what  can  be  done 
is  done  already  ;  yet  he  who  has  drank  of  Castalia’s  fount,  and 
listened  to  the  mighty  voice  flf  the  Parnassian  sisters,  and  who 
casts  his  bold  eye  on  Creation,  inexhaustible  as  its  Maker,  and 
catches  inspiration  while  he  gazes ;  will  take  the  lyre  in  his 
hand,  delight  with  new  melody  the  ear  of  mortals,  and  write 
his  name  among  the  immortal  in  song.” 

Many,  if  not  most,  of  the  poets  can  scarcely  plead  guiltless  of 
the  charge  of  plagiarism,  if  not  in  its  direct  sense,  at  least  in 
some  of  its  modified  forms.  There  may  be  accidental  coinci¬ 
dences  of  thought  and  resemblances  of  expression  on  the  one 
part,  and  there  are  on  the  other  hand  a  class  of  commonly  re¬ 
ceived  words  and  ideas  which  are,  indeed,  the  current  coin  of 
the  republic  of  letters.  A  writer  may,  therefore,  be  a  frequent 
plagiarist  and  yet  in  other  respects  exhibit  undoubted  origin¬ 
ality.  “Montaigne  borrowed  largely  from  Seneca  and  Plu¬ 
tarch  ;  and  what  he  has  copied,  without  acknowledgment,  from 
them,  Charron  and  Corneille  have  adopted  in  the  same  unscru¬ 
pulous  manner  from  him.  Pascal,  who  is  generally  reckoned 
one  of  the  most  original  thinkers  of  the  seventeenth  century,  is 
described  as  surpassing  all  others  by  his  daring  feats  of  plagiar- 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


463 


ism.  In  a  single  chapter  of  his  Pensees,  Rodier  has  pointed 
ont  seven  or  eight  instances  of  this  species  of  theft ;  and  for 
further  examples  he  invites  the  curious  reader  to  a  compari¬ 
son  of  the  Pensees  with  the  Essays  of  Montaigne.” 

Emerson  assumes  that  it  is  the  duty  and  the  province  of  great 
minds  to  adopt  the  thoughts  of  others — to  embalm  them  for  fu¬ 
turity — to  take  the  roughly -hewn  blocks  from  the  thought-mines 
of  others  and  fashion  them  into  mosques,  feudal  towers,  or  pyr¬ 
amids,  as  the  loving,  chivalrous,  or  sublime  spirit  of  the  builder 
may  suggest. 

This  communistic  appropriation  of  ideas — this  building  from 
another’s  quarry,  is  a  species  of  free-masonry ,  that  may  some¬ 
times  be  more  free  than  welcome. 

It  has  been  gravely  asked  who  are  original  thinkers ;  even 
those  who  rank  as  philosophical  Writers,  adopt  the  opinions  of 
their  predecessors — some  favorite  theory  of  a  former  age ;  and 
having  espoused  it,  they  indorsed  the  new  creed  with  an  enthu¬ 
siasm  as  zealous  as  if  it  were  one  of  their  own  creation.  There 
are  a  few  noble  exceptions  to  the  rule,  however,  for  the  honor 
of  learning  ;  the  daring  Florentine,  for  instance :  a  large  propor¬ 
tion  of  our  modern  literature  might  be,  with  advantage  to  all 
parties,  suppressed,  since  it  possesses  in  the  main  but  the  ques¬ 
tionable  merit  of  a  metamorphoses. 

The  remark  ascribed  to  Pope  Ganganelli,  that  all  books  in 
the  known  world  might  be  comprised  in  six  thousand  folio  vol¬ 
umes,  if  filled  with  original  matter,  was,  we  think,  an  ex¬ 
tremely  liberal  estimate. 

One  age  battens  upon  its  predecessor  with  gnome-like  rapa¬ 
city  and  thus  a  host  of  pseudo-authors  acquire  an  undeserved 
reputation.  Homer,  Dante,  Rabelais,  and  Shakespeare,  Cha¬ 
teaubriand  styles  the  great  universal  individualities  and  great 
parent  geniuses,  who  appear  to  have  nourished  all  others.  The 
first  fertilized  antiquity ;  iEschylus,  Euripides,  Sophocles,  Hor- 


464 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


ace,  Aristophanes,  and  Yirgil  were  his  sons.  Dante,  in  like 
manner,  was  the  father  of  modern  Italy,  from  Petrarch  to 
Tasso.  Pabelais  created  the  literature  of  France  :  Montaigne. 
La^Fontaine,  Moliere,  descended  from  him ;  while  England 
owes  nearly  all  to  Shakespeare  and  Bacon.  People  often  deny 
the  authority  of  these  supreme  masters — they  rebel  against  them, 
proclaim  their  defects,  but  with  as  much  propriety  as  one  might 
the  spots  on  the  sun’s  disc  ;  they  even  accuse  them  of  tedious¬ 
ness,  and  sometimes  absurdity,  while  in  the  very  act  of  robbing 
them  and  decking  themselves  in  their  spoils. 

The  student  in  his  literary  progress  will  derive  no  small  in¬ 
terest  in  discovering,  as  he  inevitably  will,  if  he  goes  deep 
enough,  the  hidden  germs  of  many  of  the  happiest  expressions 
which  adorn  the  pages  of  our  distinguished  writers. 

Almost  every  author  of  any  standing  in  the  ranks  of  litera¬ 
ture  may  be  regarded  as  a  borrower,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
from  the  commonwealth  of  letters.  Even  Shakespeare,  Milton, 
Gray,  are  frequently  indebted  to  their  predecessors  in  “  boke- 
craft ;  ”  the  latter  to  the  classic  writers. 

Butler  compares  a  literary  plagiarist  to  an  Italian  thief,  who 
never  robs  but  he  murders  to  prevent  discovery.  Another  defi¬ 
nition,  somewhat  akin,  describes  the  plagiarist  as  a  “  purloiner, 
who  filches  the  fruit  that  others  have  gathered  and  then  throws 
away  the  basket.” 

After  all  that  may  be  urged  on  the  score  of  accidental  coin¬ 
cidences  of  thought  and  expression,  it  cannot  be  questioned 
that  there  has  been  perpetrated  a  vast  amount  of  literary  fraud. 

Could  we  invoke  the  spirits  of  the  departed,  what  pitiless 
plaints  would  be  preferred  against  the  spoliations  of  many  a 
modern  scribe,  who,  to  avoid  the  trouble  of  thinking  for  him¬ 
self  has  chosen  the  more  summary  mode  of  allowing  others  to 
do  so  for  him.  Yet,  after  all,  who  should  complain,  when  such 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


465 


a  vast  economy  of  time  and  trouble  may  be  achieved  by  the 
labor-saving  process. 

A  writer,  it  is  observed,  may  steal  after  the  manner  of  bees, 
without  wronging  anybody ;  but  the  theft  of  the  ant,  which 
takes  away  the  whole  grain  of  corn,  is  not  to  be  imitated.  A 
French  writer  #  observes,  “  To  take  from  the  ancients,  and  make 
one’s  advantage  of  what  they  have  written,  is  like  pirating  be¬ 
yond  the  line  ;  but  to  steal  from  one’s  contemporaries,  by  sur¬ 
reptitiously  appropriating  to  one’s  self  their  thoughts  and  pro¬ 
ductions,  is  like  picking  people’s  pockets  in  the  open  street.” 

Instances  of  petty  larceny  are  undoubtedly  more  numerous 
than  such  as  may  be  styled  cases  of  grand  literary  larceny ;  and 
we  have  even  heard  it  advocated  as  a  meritorious  virtue  in  a 
writer,  when  he  shall  abstract  from  a  previous  author  some  ac¬ 
knowledged  beauty,  either  of  rhetoric  or  thought,  and  afresh 
incorporate  it  as  his  own,  on  the  plea  that  a  gem  may  often  lie 
long  obscured,  and  acquire  redoubled  lustre  by  the  skill  of  the 
artist  in  the  resetting. 

A  strong  resemblance  may  occur  between  two  writers,  if  not 
indeed  a  strict  identity  both  of  ideas  and  language,  which  may 
be  purely  accidental;  but  this  must  be  an  occurrence  exceed¬ 
ingly  rare:  A  bold  or  beautiful  thought  is  sometimes  likely  so 
to  impress  the  imagination  as  to  exist  in  the  memory  long  after 
its  paternity  is  forgotten,  and  thus  become  ingrafted  into  the 
mind  so  as  to  seem  part  of  itself;  such  a  case  would  certainly 
admit  of  great  extenuation  in  the  criminal  code  of  literary  jur¬ 
isprudence. 

Literary  frauds  of  various  kinds  have  been  practised  by  in¬ 
genious  fabricators  in  almost  every  age  and  every  civilized 
country.  Supposititious  books  and  literary  impostures  by  scores, 
have  ever  been  floating  on  the  tide  of  Time. 


30 


*  Yayer. 


466 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


Let  us  glance  rapidly  at  some  of  the  more  noteworthy  poetic 
parallels,  accidental  or  plagiaristic. 

Perhaps  Shakespeare’s  prolific  muse  has  been  more  laid  under 
contribution  by  literary  filchers  than  any  other  writer  of  mod¬ 
ern  times ;  for  instance,  it  is  apparent  that  Pope’s  oft-quoted 
lines, 

“  Honor  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise, 

Act  well  your  part,  there  ah  the  honor  lies,” 

were  but  another  rendering  of  the  same  thought,  expressed  not 
less  forcibly,  by  the  great  dramatic  bard — 

“  From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  proceed, 

The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed.” 

Byron,  in  Childe  Harold ,  has  the  image  of  a  broken  mirror 
to  show  how  a  broken  heart  multiplies  images  of  sorrow.  But 
the  same  simile  is  in  Burton.  Giordano  Bruns  said  that  the  first 
people  of  the  world  should  rather  be  called  the  youngsters  than 
the  ancients.  Lord  Bacon  (a  great  plagiarist)  makes  use  of  the 
very  same  idea. 

Addison  speaks  of  the  stars  “  forever  singing  as  they  shine.” 
Sir  Thomas  Browne  talks  of  “  the  singing  constellations  ;  ” 
though  both  have  followed  the  idea  expressed  in  the  Scripture. 
Shelley  speaks  of  Death  and  his  brother  Sleep.  The  thought 
is  taken  from  Sir  Thomas  Browne. 

Goldsmith’s  well-known  line, — 

“  Man  wants  but  little  here  below,  nor  wants  that  little  long,” — 

was  evidently  taken  from  Young,  who,  in  his  Night  Thoughts , 
says : 

u  Man  wants  but  little,  nor  that  little  long.” 

That  hackneyed  line  in  Campbell’s  Pleasures  of  Hope, 

“  Like  angel  visits,  few  and  far  between,” 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


467 


is  borrowed  almost  literally  from  Blair’s  Grave ,  where  we 
have— 

its  visits, 

Like  those  of  angels,  short  and  far  between.”  * 

Pope,  again,  was  not  innocent  of  the  charge,  as  may  be  seen 
in  one  or  two  examples  : 

“  Eye  Nature’s  walks,  shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 

And  catch  the  manners  living  as  they  rise ; 

Laugh  when  we  must,  be  candid  when  we  can. 

And  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man.” 

Dryden’s  lines,  in  Absalom ,  read, 

£  ‘  While  he  with  watchful  eye 
Observes  and  shoots  their  treasons  as  they  fly.” 

And  Milton  supplies  Pope’s  last  line,  in  the  following : 

‘  ‘  That  to  the  height  of  this  great  argument 
I  may  assert  eternal  Providence 
And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men  ?  ” 

Against  his  celebrated  “Essay  on  Criticism,”  Lady  Wort- 
ley  Montague  has  preferred  a  far  more  serious  accusation : 
she  writes,  “  I  admired  Mr.  Pope’s  4  Essay  on  Criticism,’  at 
first  very  much,  because  I  had  not  then  read  any  of  the  ancient 
critics,  and  did  not  know  that  it  was  all  stolen 

*  Wilmott  contends  that  this  beautiful  conceit  originated  with  Norris  of  Ben¬ 
ton,  in  his  poem,  entitled .  The  Parting.  The  stanza  reads  : 

“  How  fading  are  the  joys  we  dote  upon ; 

Like  apparitions  seen  and  gone  ; 

But  those  who  soonest  take  their  flight 

Are  the  most  exquisite  and  strong, 

Like  angels'  visits  short  and  bright ; 

Mortality’s  too  weak  to  bear  them  long.” 


468 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


The  couplet, 

u  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 

As  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen,” 

is  evidently  traceable  to  a  passage  from  Leighton. 

Pope’s  famous  line,  “  The  proper  study  of  mankind  is 
man,”  which  Charron  had  said  before  him,  is  evidently  a  trans¬ 
fer  from  Pascal’s  “  Pensees,” — “  l’etude  de  l’homme,  puisque 
c’est  celle  qui  lui  est  propre.”  The  origin  of  the  thought  is  prob¬ 
ably  traceable  to  Xenophon. 

Again,  in  his  “  Essay  on  Criticism,”  we  have  the  couplet, 

“  A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing  ; 

Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring ;  ” 

which  has  its  source  in  Lord  Bacon’s  “  Essay  on  Atheism :  ” 
“A  little  philosophy  inclineth  man’s  mind  to  atheism,  but 
depth  in  philosophy  bringeth  men’s  minds  about  to  religion. 

Pope’s  “  Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame”  is  evidently  derived 
from  Hadrian’s  lines,  also  from  a  fragment  of  Sappho,  and 
later  still  Flatman’s  lines  on  a  departing  spirit. 

Gray’s  classic  Elegy  is  said  to  be  a  kind  of  literary  mosaic. 
Its  beautiful  thoughts  are  taken  from  the  Greek  and  Latin  au¬ 
thors,  and  also  from  Dante.  One  of  the  finest  stanzas  of  the 
Elegy  is  but  a  free  translation  of  the  Latin  couplet : 

'  ‘  Plurima  gemma  latet  caeca  tellure  sepulta  ; 

Plurima  neglecto  fragrat  odore  rosa.” 

Gray’s  lines  are : 

“  Full  many  a  gem,  of  purest  ray  serene, 

The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 

Full  many  a  flower  is  bom  to  blush  unseen, 

And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air.” 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


469 


Even  Cowper  seems  to  have  taken  that  oft-quoted  line, 

“  England,  with  all  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  still,” 

from  Churchill’s  “  Farewell :  ” 

‘  ‘  Be  England  what  she  will, 

With  all  her  faults,  she  is  my  country  still.” 

Byron,  again,  in  his  “  Bride  of  Abydos,”  imitates  a  song  in 
Goethe’s  “  Wilhelm  Meister.”  The  former  commences, 

“  Know  ye  the  land  where  the  cypress  and  myrtle 
Are  emblems  of  deeds  that  are  done  in  their  clime.” 

And  the  latter  reads  : 

“  Know’st  thou  the  land  where  the  lemon-trees  bloom, 

Where  the  gold  orange  glows  in  the  deep  thicket’s  gloom.” 

Campbell  seems  to  have  had  a  couplet  from  Pope’s  “  Battle  of 
the  Frogs  and  Mice,”  in  his  mind  when  he  wrote  his  “  Pleas¬ 
ures  of  Hope.”  The  former  reads : 

“  When  front  to  front  the  marching  armies  shine, 

Halt  ere  they  meet,  and  form  the  lengthening  line 

and  Campbell’s  lines  are  : 

“  When  front  to  front  the  bannered  hosts  combine, 

Halt  ere  they  close,  and  form  the  dreadful  line.” 

The  plagiarism  of  Campbell  from  an  elder  poet,  Vaughan,  is 
worthy  of  being  cited : 

( CampbdVs .) 

‘ 1  When  o’  er  the  green,  undeluged  earth, 

Heaven’s  covenant  thou  didst  shine  ; 

How  came  the  world's  gray  fathers  forth, 

To  watch  thy  sacred  sign.” 


470 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


( Vaughan's.) 

1 1  Still  young'  and  fine  !  but  what  is  still  in  view 
We  slight  as  old  and  soiled,  though  fresh  and  new  : 

How  bright  wert  thou,  when  Shem’s  admiring  eye 
Thy  burning,  flaming  arch  did  first  descry  ; 

When  Zerah,  Nahor,  Haram,  Abram,  Lot, 

The  youthful  world's  gray  fathers,  in  one  knot, 

Did,  with  intentive  looks  watch  every  hour 
For  thy  new  light,  and  trembled  at  each  shower  !  ” 

The  occasional  conceits  in  this  black-letter  bard,  coupled 
with  his  earnest  straightforwardness  and  sincerity,  compensate 
us  for  the  absence  of  the  rich  embellishment  of  Campbell. 

We  cannot  forbear  quoting,  from  the  English  Bards  and 
Scotch  Reviewers ,  Byron’s  well-known  lines  on  the  death  of 
Kirke  White,  because  the  most  beautiful  figure  in  them  seems 
evidently  copied  from  Waller.  We  commence  with  Byron  : 

“  ’Twas  thine  own  genius  gave  the  fatal  blow, 

And  helped  to  plant  the  wound  that  laid  thee  low  ! 

So  the  struck  eagle,  stretched  upon  the  plain, 

No  more  through  rolling  clouds  to  soar  again, 

Viewed  his  own  feather  on  the  fatal  dart, 

And  winged  the  shaft  that  quivered  in  his  heart : 

Keen  were  his  pangs,  but  keener  far  to  feel, 

He  nursed  the  pinion  which  impelled  the  steel, 

While  the  same  plumage  that  had  warmed  his  nest, 

Drank  the  last  life-drop  of  his  bleeding  breast !  ” 

Waller’s  stanza,  which  expresses  a  similar  sentiment,  is  as 
follows : 

u  That  eagle’s  fate  and  mine  are  one, 

Which  on  the  shaft  that  made  him  die 
Espied  a  feather  of  his  own 

Wherewith  he’d  wont  to  soar  so  high.  ” 

In  Thomas  Moore’s  poetic  epistle,  Corruption ,  the  same 
figure  also  occurs : 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


471 


“  Like  a  young  eagle,  who  has  lent  his  plume 
To  fledge  the  shaft  by  which  he  meets  his  doom, 

See  their  own  feathers  plucked  to  wing  the  dart, 

Which  rank  corruption  destines  for  their  heart.” 

Moore  has  been  charged  with  liberal  plagiarisms  upon  Beran- 
ger,  as  well  as  being  a  close  copyist  of  some  of  his  other 
contemporaries  in  vernacular  verse,  a  detailed  account  of  which 
was  given  in  Blackwood  some  years  ago,  exhibiting  a  series  of 
specifications  amounting  to  sixty -five  ! 

The  fine  moral  poem  of  the  “  Hermit,”  by  Parnell,  is  taken 
from  Martin  Luther’s  tale  of  a  hermit,  who  murmured  against 
the  decrees  of  Divine  Providence.  What  Sterne  has  not 
plagiarized,  we  shall  not  stay  to  notice,  notwithstanding  he 
counterfeited  most  excellent  coin.  He  has  been  charged  with 
pilfering  from  Burton,  Rabelais,  Montaigne,  Bayle,  and  others. 

Scott  was  always  esteemed  an  original  writer,  but  Lord 
Jeffrey,  in  reviewing  his  works,  said :  “  Even  in  him  the 
traces  of  imitation  are  obvious  and  abundant.” 

The  best  couplet  of  Tickell’s  best  poem  is  in  his  elegy  on 
Addison : 

“  He  taught  us  how  to  live,  and  oh  !  too  high 
The  price  of  knowledge,  taught  us  how  to  die  !  ” 

How  compare  the  following,  from  Sandy  s’  Anglorum  Spec¬ 
ulum  :  “  I  have  taught  you,  my  dear  flock,  for  above  thirty 

years,  how  to  live ;  I  wish  to  show  you,  in  a  very  short  time, 
howto  die.”  See  also  Goldsmith’s  “Village  Clergyman,”  for 
another  and  later  rendering  of  the  idea. 

As  for  Coleridge,  he  stole  in  such  an  opiatic  way,  and  so 
totally  forgot  from  whence  he  stole,  that  in  many  editions  of 
his  poems  epigrams  from  Schiller  and  Goethe  are  still  inserted 
without  acknowledgment;  and  he  actually  to  his  dying  day 
believed  that  Faust  was  an  old  idea  of  his  own. 


472 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


Fuller  thus  beautifully  depicts  the  last  moments  of  a  dying 
saint : 

u  Drawing  near  her  death,  she  sent  most  pious  thoughts  as 
harbingers  to  heaven  ;  and  her  soul  saw  a  glimpse  of  happiness 
through  the  chinks  of  her  sickness-broken  body.”  And  Waller 
versifies  the  same  beautiful  idea : 

“  The  soul’s  dark  cottage,  battered  and  decayed, 

Lets  in  new  light  through  chinks  that  time  has  made. 

Stronger  by  weakness,  wiser  men  become, 

As  they  draw  near  to  their  eternal  home.  ” 

Addison  and  Pope  may  be  said  to  “  divide  the  honors  ”  as  to 
the  authorship  of  the  line — 

“Rides  on  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm,” 

since  it  appears  in  the  writings  of  both. 

Some  critics  have  supposed  that  even  Milton’s  “  Paradise 
Lost  ”  was  suggested  by  De  Bartas’s  “  Divine  Weekes  ;  ”  while 
others,  with  greater  plausibility,  trace  its  origin  to  Avitus,  one 
of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church,  who  wrote  Latin  poems  on  the 
Creation,  the  Fall,  etc.  There  is  yet  another  conjecture  that 
the  works  of  Yondel,  the  Shakespeare  of  Holland,  may  have 
suggested  the  idea  of  our  English  epic.  Ilis  “Lucifer”  ap¬ 
peared  some  fourteen  years  before  the  “  Paradise  Lost  ”  of 
Milton.  The  principal  resemblances  between  them,  however, 
consist  in  the  subjects  selected,  and  the  names  of  some  of  the 
characters  introduced  into  our  great  epic.  Another  literary 
censor,  Landor,  suggests  that  Milton  was  indebted  to  a  Latin 
drama,  entitled  “  Sarcotidos,”  written  by  Grotius ;  as  there  are 
evident  parallels  both  in  structure  and  thought  between  the 
productions.  Even  Shakespeare,  “  the  blameless  idol  of  all 
intellectual  men,”  is  charged,  as  intimated,  with  having  stolen 
his  plots  from  earlier  dramatists  and  the  Italian  poets. 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


473 


The  literary  faux-pas  of  a  once  celebrated  chemist,  by  his 
work  on  Chemical  Tests ,  is  known  to  the  scientific  in  both 
hemispheres.  He  published  a  work  on  poisons,  entitled 
Death  in  the  Pot ,  which  at  first  bid  fair  to  yield  its  author  a 
moderately  good  revenue  of  fame  and  fortune,  but  for  the  dis¬ 
covery  which  was  soon  made,  that  it  consisted  of  a  series  of  pil¬ 
fered  pages,  torn  out  of  old  books  in  the  British  Museum  ;  he 
was  tried  upon  a  criminal  suit  for  felony,  and  although  for¬ 
mally  acquitted,  yet  so  strong  was  the  impression  of  his  guilt 
that  he  was  compelled  to  retire  from  observation. 

The  departments  of  law,  physic,  and  theology  have  not  been 
exempt  from  literary  pilferers  ;  even  Biblical  commentators  are 
not  innocent  of  this  charge,  as  we  learn  from  the  preface  to 
Cobbin’s  “  Condensed  Commentary.”  He  there  says : 

“  All  the  commentators  have  drawn  largely  from  the  Fathers, 
especially  from  St.  Augustine ;  and  most  of  them  have  made 
common  property  of  Patrick,  South,  and  Whitby.  Henry  has 
made  very  free  use  with  Bishop  Hall  and  others,  and  Scott  has 
again  enriched  himself  abundantly  from  Henry ;  Poole  ex¬ 
hausted  the  continental  writers,  while  Gill,  unlike  the  others, 
acknowledges  his  obligations.”  The  number  of  commentators 
is  great ;  yet  if  the  uncopied  portions  were  to  be  collected,  they 
would,  perhaps,  occupy  a  single  duodecimo. 

Akenside  first  published  his  Pleasures  of  Imagination 
anonymously  ;  and  very  soon  after  a  pretender,  of  the  name  of 
Bolt,  actually  had  the  impudence  to  go  over  to  Dublin  and 
publish  an  edition  of  that  fine  poem  with  his  own  name  at¬ 
tached  to  it  as  the  author.  The  “  Man  of  Feeling,”  by  Mac¬ 
kenzie,  vras  also  originally  published  under  the  assumed  name 
of  Eccles,  who  borrowed  the  manuscript  on  pretence  of  perus¬ 
ing  it.  This  rogue  succeeded  to  such  an  extent  in  his  impos¬ 
ture,  that  the  real  author  found  at  first  great  trouble  in  estab¬ 
lishing  his  just  claim  to  its  authorship  before  the  'world. 


474 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


Hunter’s  “  Captivity  among  the  Indians  ”  is  a  pure  fabrica- 
cation ;  yet  it  acquired  considerable  notoriety  in  London,  some 
fifty  years  ago,  and  its  author  was  lionized  by  the  public.  Sir 
Everard  Home  was  a  notorious  instance  of  wholesale  literary 
fraud,  upon  the  celebrated  Dr.  Hunter’s  writings,  which  formed 
the  basis  of  Home’s  pretended  “  Lectures  before  the  Boyal  Col¬ 
lege  of  Surgeons.” 

Next  of  kin  to  literary  thefts  may  be  classed  impostures  ;  and 
of  these  we  might  mention  as  prominent  instances,  Chatterton’s 
“  Bowley  Poems,”  Macplierson’s  “  Poems  of  Ossian,”  Ireland’s 
“  Shakespeare  Forgeries,”  Landor’s  “  Trial  of  Shakespeare  for 
Deer-stealing,”  and  several  others  of  French  origin. 

The  Ossian  poems  were  once  so  admired  by  the  Freuch,  that 
they  were  thought  to  rival  many  of  the  prominent  productions 
of  the  British  Muse.  Napoleon  is  said  to  have  made  them  his 
constant  study. 

A  mysterious  individual  (we  shall  never  'know  who  he  was, 
or  wdience  he  ca#ie ;  for  George  P Salmanazar  was  his  assumed 
name)  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  native  of  Provence.  Lie 
was  educated  among  the  Jesuits,  and  after  some  years 
travelled  over  Germany  and  elsewhere,  disguised  as  a  mendi¬ 
cant,  or  pilgrim.  When  he  reached  England  he  gave  himself 
out  as  a  Japanese  from  the  island  of  Formosa.  He  died  at 
the  age  of  eighty-tliree,  in  the  year  1763.  He  was  not  only  a 
literary  forger  of  manuscripts,  but  an  inventor  of  a  language, 
of  a  chirography,  and  indeed  of  an  imaginary  island  called 
Formosa.  Llis  autobiography  is  one  of  the  most  curious  and 
romantic  pieces  of  writing  extant. 

The  w^ork  appeared  in  1704,  and  was  speedily  translated  into 
French  and  German ;  and  for  nearly  a  century  this  ingenious 
fabrication  was  quoted  by  savans  as  an  authority !  Ireland, 
with  far  less  talent  than  Psalmanazar,  displayed  yet  the  greater 
audacity  in  his  attempt  to  counterfeit  Shakespeare  ;  and  yet  he 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


475 


had  adroitness  sufficient  to  dupe  the  learned  world  for  a  sea¬ 
son,  for  many  of  its  representatives  were  only  too  eager  to  pay 
liberally  for  even  fac-similes  of  these  pseudo-Shakespearean 
manuscripts. 

It  is  doubtful  if  such  devout  consternation  and  enthusiastic 
admiration  were  ever  enkindled  among  the  cognoscenti  and 
dilettanti  of  the  civilized  world,  as  were  caused  by  his  fabrica¬ 
tions.  Dr.  Parr  has,  we  believe,  the  credit  of  having  detected 
the  fraud. 

The  literary  forgeries  of  Chatterton  were  induced  by  the 
cold  neglect  with  which  he  found  his  own  original  effusions 
were  received;  and  yet  Byron,  Shelley,  Coleridge,  Southey, 
Wordsworth,  and  other  great  poets,  have  lauded  Chatterton  as 
a  precocious  and  remarkable  genius.  Keats  dedicated  his 
“  Endymion  ”  to  his  memory,  and  Wordsworth  styled  him 

“  The  marvellous  boy, 

The  sleepless  soul  that  perished  in  its  pride.” 

Poor  Chatterton  wrote  graceful  verses  at  the  early  age  of 
eleven  ;  at  sixteen  he  produced  his  “  Powley  Poems  ;  ”  at  nine¬ 
teen  his  life  was  embittered  by  terrible  privation,  and  suicidal 
death  soon  after  succeeded.  These  literary  forgeries  have, 
however,  from  their  great  merit,  become  incorporated  into  our 
“  English  ”  literature,  after  having  provoked  among  the  learned 
an  unusually  prolonged  discussion  and  controversy.  One  of 
the  most  deeply  interesting  biographies  we  ever  read  was  that 
of  the  poet  Chatterton.  His  brief  but  hapless  career  was 
crowded  with  touching  incidents. 

Not  long  since  a  celebrated  French  savant  was  victimized 
by  an  ingenious  imposture,  which  cost  him,  it  is  said,  some 
20,000  francs.  It  was  the  so-called  discovery  of  a  valuable 
collection  of  manuscripts  by  Pascal,  on  some  pretended 
scientific  discovery.  Cases  of  literary  freebooting  and 


476 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


fraud  crowd  upon  us;  but  we  must  content  ourselves  with 
what  has  been  already  adduced,  for  fear  we  become  sceptical 
as  to  the  existence  of  any  remaining  integrity  in  the  world  of 
letters;  and  possibly  the  reader  may  even  begin  to  suspect  the 
integrity  of  the  present  writing. 

We  lately  met  with  an  amusing  Boole  of  Blunders ,  in 
which  is  given  an  expose  of  the  anachronisms  and  errors  of 
syntax  or  fact,  committed  by  some  of  our  prominent  authors ! 
To  quote  some  of  these  literary  bulls  and  blunders  might  be 
amusing,  as  presenting  some  points  of  humor  for  their  absurdity. 
Many  of  these  literary  curiosities  will  surprise  the  reader  also 
on  account  of  their  paternity. 

Byron  says  in  “ Childe  Harold’s  Pilgrimage  : ”  “I  stood  in 
Venice,  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  a  palace  and  a  prison  on  each 
hand.”  Meaning  the  Ducal  palace  on  the  one  hand  and  the 
State  prison  on  the  other. 

Instances  of  grammatical  blunders  not  a  few  might  be  cited 
against  accredited  writers ;  but  we  pass  them  over.  There  are 
also  the  anachronisms  of  Shakespeare,  which  occur  in  Corio- 
lanus ,  King  Lear ,  Macbeth ,  and  King  John. 

In  the  first-named  play,  the  error  consists  in  making  Cato 
contemporary  with  Coriolanus,  whereas  the  former  lived  two 
centuries  later  !  In  the  King  Lear  occurs  the  line,  “  If  it  be 
nothing,  I  shall  not  want  spectacles.”  Now  Lear  was  an  early 
Anglo-Saxon  King,  and  spectacles  were  known  only  to  the  14th 
century.  Again,  Macbeth  was  killed  in  1054  and  King  John  be¬ 
gan  his  reign  in  1199,  while  the  battle  of  Cressy,  where  cannon 
were  first  used,  occurred  in  1346 ;  and  yet  Shakespeare  antici¬ 
pates,  in  both  these  plays,  the  use  of  cannon.  In  “  Julius  Caesar  ” 
and  the  “  Comedy  of  Errors  ”  are  similar  errors  of  date. 

We  should  scarcely  suspect  Milton  of  a  bull,  yet  in  Para¬ 
dise  Lost  Adam  is  represented  as  one  of  his  own  sons,  and  Eve 
one  of  her  own  daughters : 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


477 


“  Adam,  the  goodliest  man  of  men  since  bom , 

His  sons , — the  fairest  of  her  daughters,  Eve.” 

Nor  is  the  classic  English  of  Addison  free  from  such  blem¬ 
ishes  ;  in  his  Cato  we  read, 

“So  the  pure  limpid  stream,  when  foul  with  stains 
Of  rushing  torrents  and  descending  rains.” 

And  in  his  “  Letter  from  Italy  ”  he  thus  mingles  up  his 
metaphorical  allusions : 

“  I  bridle  in  my  struggling  muse  with  pain, 

That  longs  to  launch  into  a  bolder  strain.” 

What  connection  is  there  between  a  horse  and  a  ship  ?  Even 
the  learned  lexicographer,  Dr.  Johnson,  has  been  detected  of 
similar  blunders ;  to  wit,  the  following :  “  Every  monumental 
inscription  should  be  in  Latin ;  for  that  being  a  dead  language, 
it  will  always  live !  ”  And  again  in  the  following  lines : 

“  Nor  yet  perceived  the  vital  spirit  fled, 

But  still  fought  on,  nor  knew  that  he  was  dead!  ” 

Some  of  these  illustrations  are  as  paradoxical  as  the  infatu¬ 
ated  faction  in  one  of  the  Irish  rebellions,  who,  to  revenge 
themselves  of  a  prominent  banker,  actually  burned  all  his 
bank-notes  that  they  could  find. 

Having  thus  taken  a  brief  glance  at  prominent  cases  of  liter¬ 
ary  fraud,  we  are  tempted  to  inquire  whether  there  is  such  a 
thing  in  existence  as  absolute  moral  honesty.  The  earliest  in¬ 
dications  of  childhood  afford  us  no  very  conclusive  evidence  in 
its  behalf,  however  guileless  the  incipient  knavery,  while 
among  the  unsophisticated  rangers  of  the  forest,  similar  de¬ 
velopments  of  a  natural  law  of  secretiveness  are  no  less  obser¬ 
vable.  The  governing  impulse  of  the  robber  seems  but  the 
exuberant  outgrowth  of  the  very  principle,  otherwise  known  by 


478 


LITERARY  LARCENIES. 


tlie  less  objectionable  epithet — covetousness ;  and  we  cannot  but 
conclude  that  he  must  be  an  ingenious  sophist  who  can  adduce 
any  substantial  reasons  against  their  positive  identity.  If, 
then,  they  are  convertible  terms,  it  is  solely  to  our  conventional 
usage  we  must  ascribe  the  fact  that  both  are  not  alike  visited 
by  penal  enactment.  IIow  far  such  a  course  may  conflict  with 
our  notions  of  abstract  justice  we  leave  the  reader  to  decide, 
since  to  both  we  admit  an  eager,  if  not  an  equal,  proclivity. 

“  In  the  crowd, 

May  it  please  your  excellency,  your  thief  looks 
Exactly  like  the  rest,  or  rather  better ; 

’Tis  only  at  the  bar,  and  in  the  dungeon, 

That  wise  men  know  your  felon  by  his  features.” 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 

We  do  not  propose  any  metaphysical  or  psychological 
inquiry  as  to  whether  animals  possess  reasoning  powers ;  but 
rather  to  group  together  for  our  amusement  some  of  the  illus¬ 
trative  instances  which  seem  to  favor  such  a  conclusion.  Vol¬ 
umes  have  been  written  about  the  economy  of  the  ants,  and 
the  monarchy  of  the  bees,  as  well  as  of  sagacious  dogs  and 

9 

their  doings,  cats  and  their  cunning  ways,  parrots  and  their 
prattle,  and  monkeys  and  their  comic  manoeuvres.  Let  us  then 
con  over  some  of  these  curious  connecting  links  in  the  great 
chain  of  creation,  with  its  boasted  lord — the  “  paragon  of 
animals.” 


« 


480 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


Instinct  seems  to  be  tlie  incipient  state  of  reason,  although  the 

instinctive  sensations  of  which  animals  are  the  subjects  cannot 

be  properly  classed  in  the  same  category  with  the  ideas  or  the 

rationative  process  of  the  human  mind.  Here  is  the  dividing 

line  between  instinct  and  reason,  and  yet  it  is  difficult  for  the 

metaphysician  to  define  the  boundaries  of  each,  since,  as  in 
* 

the  several  kingdoms  of  nature — animal,  vegetable,  mineral — 
they  seem  to  commingle  where  they  unite. 

The  instinct  of  animals,  it  has  been  urged,  is  limited  to 
memory  enlightened  by  experience ;  the  intelligence  of  man, 
on  the  contrary,  is  unrestricted  and  free.  This  constitutes  his 
superiority.  Hence,  animals  are  stationary,  while  man  is 
progressive.  Beavers  construct  their  habitations,  birds  their 
nests,  bees  their  hives,  and  the  spider  its  web,  with  an  admira¬ 
ble  ingenuity ;  but  the  most  sagacious  of  them  cannot  apply 
their  skill  to  purposes  beyond  the  sphere  of  their  particular 
wants,  nor  do  any  of  them  *  improve  in  the  smallest  degree  on 
their  predecessors.  Exactly  as  they  respectively  built  at  the 
time  of  the  creation,  so  will  they  continue  to  build  until  the 
end  of  time. 

On  the  other  hand  man  is  dependent  on  education  ;  he  is 
the  most  helpless  of  animals  in  infancy;  for  he  has  to  be 
taught  to  eat,  to  speak,  and  to  walk. 

Aristotle  concludes  there  “  are  between  man  and  animals 
faculties  in  common,  near  and  analogous.”  He  ascribes  to  the 
elephant  the  character  of  being  the  most  teachable  and  tama¬ 
ble:  but  he  adds,  “one  sole  animal,  man,  can  reflect  and 
deliberate.” 

Flourens  contends  that  there  is  a  direct  opposition  between 
instinct  and  intelligence,  the  former  being  blind,  necessary, 
and  invariable,  while  the  latter  is  elective,  conditional,  and 
changeable.  Horses  learn  to  obey  man,  and  understand  some 
of  his  words;  this  intelligence,  in  a  qualified  sense,  is  the 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


481 


result  of  experience  and  instruction  or  training.  Monkeys 
and  cats  are  taught  to  drink  tea,  elephants  to  fire  pistols,  don¬ 
keys  and  pigs  to  find  cards  or  numbers.  If  brutes  are  not 
invested  with  reasoning  powers — though  Plutarch,  Montaigne, 
and  others  have  sought  to  establish  the  fact — something  very 
analogous  to  this  they  seem  to  possess ;  indeed,  it  is  difficult  to 
account  for  the  proofs  of  sagacity  and  intelligence  which  in 
some  instances  they  evince,  on  any  other  hypothesis.  Thus 
serpents  are  said  to  obey  the  voice  of  their  masters ;  the  trum¬ 
peter-bird  follows  its  owner  like  a  spaniel ;  and  the  jacana  acts 
as  a  guard  to  poultry,  preserving  them  in  the  fields  from  birds 
of  prey,  and  escorting  them  home  regularly  at  night. 

For  the  better  illustration  of  our  subject  we  shall  now 
adduce  some  illustrative  anecdotes ;  and,  as  the  dog  is  a  very 
general  favorite,  we  propose,  first,  thus  to  exemplify  not  only 
his  superior  sagacity  but  his  exemplary  fidelity. 

A  remarkable  illustration  of  canine  sagacity  is  related  by 
Chambers,  which  is  substantially  as  follows :  A  gentleman  of 
Suffolk,  on  an  excursion  with  his  friend,  was  attended  by  a 
Newfoundland  dog,  which  soon  became  the  subject  of  conver¬ 
sation.  As  a  test  of  the  animal’s  sagacity  his  master  put  a 
mark  upon  a  shilling,  and  after  showing  it  to  the  dog  he  put 
it  under  a  large  stone  by  the  roadside.  After  riding  some 
three  miles  distant  the  master  made  a  signal  to  the  dog  to 
return  and  fetch  the  coin.  He  turned  back,  the  gentlemen 
rode  on  and  reached  home,  but  to  their  surprise  and  disap¬ 
pointment,  the  hitherto  faithful  messenger  did  not  return 
during  the  day.  It  afterward  appeared  that  he  had  gone  to 
the  place  where  the  shilling  was  deposited,  but  the  stone  being 
too  large  for  him  to  remove,  he  had  stayed  howling  at  the  place, 
till  a  horseman  riding  by,  attracted  by  his  seeming  distress, 
dismounted,  removed  the  stone,  and  seeing  the  shilling,  put  it 

into  his  pocket.  The  dog  followed  the  rider  some  twenty  miles, 
31 


482 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


remained  undisturbed  in  the  room  where  he  supped,  and  on 
his  retiring  for  the  night  followed  him  to  his  bed,  beneath 
which  he  secreted  himself.  When  fairly  asleep  the  dog  made 
for  his  pantaloons  containing  his  money,  and  rushed  with  his 
booty  out  the  window,  which,  on  account  of  the  heat,  had  been 
left  partly  open,  and  thus  made  his  way  home.  Besides  the 
shilling,  the  gentleman’s  nether  garments  contained  a  purse 
full  of  money  and  a  watch.  These  were  afterward  advertised 
and  reclaimed.  Sir  Walter  Scott  tells  us,  among  other  anecdotes 
of  the  kind,  of  a  dog  called  Dctndie ,  that  seemed  to  know 
much  that  was  said  in  his  presence.  On  a  certain  night  his 
master,  returning  home  later  than  usual,  found  the  family  had 
retired  to  bed ;  and  not  finding  the  boot-jack  in  its  usual  place 
he  said  to  his  dog,  “  Dandie,  I  cannot  find  my  boot-jack; 
search  for  it.”  The  dog,  quite  sensible  of  what  was  spoken, 
scratched  at  the  room  door,  which  his  master  opened,  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  a  distant  part  of  the  house,  and  soon  returned  carry¬ 
ing  in  his  mouth  the  boot-jack,  which  his  master  had  left  that 
morning  under  the  sofa. 

In  a  village  near  Caen,  Normandy,  lived  in  domestic  dis¬ 
quiet  an  ill-assorted  couple :  and  one  day  the  husband,  with 
evil  intent,  took  his  refractory  spouse  for  a  walk,  and  seeing  a 
sparkling  stream  near  at  hand,  he  affected  thirst  and  stooped 
down  to  drink,  and  then  induced  his  “better  half”  to  do  the 
same.  Which,  no  sooner  had  she  done,  than  he  tried  to  push 
her  into  the  river,  when  she  would  have  been  drowned  had  it 
not  been  for  the  prompt  assistance  of  her  faithful  dog.  The 
noble  animal  seized  the  assassin  by  the  throat  and  would  not 
relinquish  his  hold,  thus  saving  the  life  of  his  mistress. 

We  have  all  heard  of  the  famous  dogs  of  St.  Bernard,  and 
of  their  marvellous  exploits  in  the  rescue  of  Alpine  travellers 
when  overtaken  with  the  snow-storm.  Early  in  the  present 
century  one  of  these  noble  creatures  was  decorated  with  a 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


483 


medal  in  reward  for  having  saved  tlie  lives  of  no  less  than 
twenty-two  snow-bound  tourists.  So  keen  is  the  sense  of 
smell  possessed  by  these  dogs,  that  although  a  perishing  man 
lie  beneath  a  snow-drift  to  the  depth  of  several  feet,  they  will 
detect  the  spot,  scrape  away  the  snow  with  their  feet,Tnake  a 
howling  that  will  be  heard  at  a  great  distance,  and  exert  them¬ 
selves  to  the  utmost  in  his  behalf.  An  anecdote  is  told  of  one 
of  these  dogs  that  found  a  child  whose  mother  had  just  been 
destroyed  by  an  avalanche ;  the  child,  alive  and  unhurt,  was  in 
some  way  induced  to  get  upon  the  dog’s  back,  and  was  thus 
safely  conveyed  to  the  Ilospice. 

The  aptitude  of  the  Newfoundland  dog  to  take  to  the  water 
and  rescue  drowning  persons  is  no  less  proverbial.  We  shall 
give  but  an  instance  or  two.  A  person  while  bathing  at 
Portsmouth  was  seized  with  cramp  and  struggling  for  his  life. 
A  Newfoundland  dog  on  the  dock,  seeing  the  man  sinking, 
plunged  into  the  water  and  saved  his  life,  while  two  boatmen 
were  debating  about  what  was  to  be  done. 

Take  another  incident  of  a  more  recent  date.  Two  children 
were  playing  on  the  banks  of  a  canal  near  Pimlico,  London ; 
the  younger  of  them  fell  into  the  water  and  the  elder  plunged 
in  with  the  hope  of  saving  him.  Both  sank;  and  just  at  the 
moment  a  Newfoundland  dog  was  looking  on,  and  rushing  to 
the  rescue,  he  soon  brought  up  one  and  then  the  other  safe  to 
shore.  The  happy  father  gave  a  dinner-party  in  commemora¬ 
tion  of  the  event,  at  which  the  noble  dog  was  a  specially-invited 
guest ! 

At  Mecklenburgh  some  years  since  a  traveller  witnessed  the 
following:  After  dinner  the  landlord  of  the  inn  placed  on 
the  floor  a  large  dish  of  soup  and  gave  a  loud  whistle.  Im¬ 
mediately  there  came  into  the  room  a  mastiff,  an  Angora  cat, 
an  old  raven,  and  a  remarkably  large  rat  with  a  bell  about  its 
neck.  They  all  four  went  to  the  dish,  and,  without  disturbing 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


484: 

each  other,  fed  together ;  after  which  the  three  reclined  on  the 
rug,  the  raven  hopping  among  them. 

Dogs  may  be  treated  r/cymatically  or  cursorily,  as  the  case 
may  demand.  Dogs  are  of  various  orders, — “  both  puppy,  mon¬ 
grel,  whelp,  and  hound,  and  curs  of  low  degree.”  Some  ani¬ 
mals  are  styled  “lucky  dogs,”  some  “jolly  dogs,”  and  some 
again  are  “  literary  dogs,”  and  deal  in  doggerel  ditties,  or  dog- 
latin.  Some  are  also  unprincipled  dogs  ;  Goldsmith  speaks  of 
a  dog,  which,  to  gain  some  private  ends,  went  mad  and  bit  the 
man  ” ! 

Although  we  cannot  find  any  explanation  of  the  fact,  yet  it 
exists,  that  our  dumb  neighbors — the  dogs — have  a  method  of 
making  themselves  understood  to  each  other.  Otherwise  what 
are  we  to  say  to  the  two  following  instances  :  A  gentleman  who 
was  occasionally  in  the  habit  of  visiting  London  from  a  distant 
county  performed  the  journey  on  horseback,  accompanied  by 
a  favorite  little  terrier  dog,  wdiieh  he  left  at  an  inn  at  some  dis¬ 
tance  from  London,  until  his  return.  On  one  occasion,  on 
calling  for  his  dog,  the  landlady  told  him  that  it  was  lost,  for  it 
had  a  fierce  encounter  with  a  large  house-dog,  and  was  sadly 
worsted  in  the  fight,  so  that  it  was  supposed  he  had  gone  away 
and  died.  After  a  few  days  he  again  made  his  appearance, 
accompanied  with  another  dog,  bigger  than  his  enemy,  on 
whom  they  both  made  such  an  attack  that  he  was  nearly  killed. 

Here  is  another  illustration  :  There  was  a  little  spaniel  which 
had  been  found  lame  by  a  Surgeon  at  Leeds,  who  carried  the 
poor  animal  home,  bandaged  up  his  leg,  and  after  three  days 
sent  him  away.  The  dog  returned  to  the  surgeon’s  house  every 
morning  till  his  leg  was  perfectly  well.  Several  months  after¬ 
ward  the  spaniel  again  presented  himself,  in  company  with 
another  dog,  which  had  also  been  lamed  ;  and  he  intimated,  as 
well  as  piteous  and  intelligent  looks  could  intimate,  that  he 
desired  the  surgeon’s  good  offices  for  his  friend. 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


485 


There  is  a  story  told  of  a  person  who,  being  desirous  of  get¬ 
ting  rid  of  his  dog,  took  it  along  with  him  in  a  boat,  and 
rowing  out  inttfthe  river  Seine,  threw  it  overboard.  The  poor 
animal  repeatedly  struggled  to  regain  the  boat,  but  was  as 
often  beaten  off ;  till  at  length,  in  the  attempts  to  bathe  the  efforts 
of  the  dog,  the  man  upset  the  boat,  and  he  fell  into  the  water. 
No  sooner,  however,  did  the  generous  brute  see  his  master 
struggle  in  the  stream  than  he  forsook  the  boat,  and  held 
him  above  water  till  assistance  arrived,  and  thus  saved  his  life. 
"Was  not  this  dog  morally  superior  to  his  owner  in  thus  return¬ 
ing  good  for  evil  ?  Here  is  another  example  of  generosity : 
A  favorite  house-dog,  left  to  the  care  of  its  master’s  servants,  at 
Edinburgh,  while  he  was  himself  in  the  country,  would  have 
been  starved  by  them  had  it  not  had  recourse  to  the  kitchen  of 
a  friend  of  its  master's,  which,  it  occasionally  visited.  Not  con¬ 
tent  with  indulging  himself  simply  in  this  streak  of  good- 
fortune,  this  liberally -minded  animal,  a  few  days  subsequently, 
falling  in  with  a  poor  solitary  duck,  and  possibly  deeming  it  to 
be  in  destitute  circumstances,  caught  it  up  in  his  teeth  and 
carried  it  to  the  well-stored  larder  that  had  so  amply  supplied 
his  own  necessities.  lie  laid  the  duck  at  the  cook’s  feet,  with 
many  polite  movements  of  his  tail — that  most  expressive  of 
canine  features — then  scampered  off,  with  much  seeming  com¬ 
placency  at  having  given  his  hostess  this  substantial  proof  of 
his  grateful  sense  of  favors  received. 

Our  illustrations  of  canine  instinct  or  intelligence  would  be 
incomplete  were  we  to  omit  the  following :  A  gentleman  was 
missed  in  London,  and  was  supposed  to  have  met  with  some 
foul  play.  No  clue  could  be  obtained  to  the  mystery  till  it 
was  gained  from  observing  that  his  dog  continued  to  crouch 
down  before  a  certain  house.  The  animal  would  not  be  induced 
to  leave  the  spot,  and  it  was  at  length  inferred  that  he  might 
be  waiting  for  his  master.  The  house,  hitherto  above  suspicion, 


486 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


was  searched,  and  the  result  was  the  discovery  of  the  body  of 
the  missing  individual,  who  had  been  murdered. 

Cats,  categorically  considered,  present  some  curious  char¬ 
acteristics,  as  distinct  from  those  of  dogs ;  they  are  often 
treacherous  and  sly ;  whereas  dogs  are  demonstrative,  out¬ 
spoken,  and  frank  in  disposition  and  character.  Cats  are 
not  overdone  with  brain  power ;  dogs  are  sagacious  and  intel¬ 
ligent.  Dogs,  civilized  dogs,  evince  surprising  attachment  to 
their  masters ;  cats,  on  the  contrary,  are  attached  to  places 
rather  than  persons.  The  balance  of  the  virtues,  we  think, 
will  be  found  against  the  feline  and  in  favor  of  the  canine. 

Some  dogs,  indeed,  have  acquired  a  kind  of  literary  cele¬ 
brity  from  having  been  the  favorites  of  distinguished  men  : 
Scott  had  his,  so  had  JByron,  and  Lord  Eldon  actually  pensioned 
his  favorite  poodle.  Thus  much,  then,  concerning  cats  and 
curs  :  and  possibly  the  reader  will  con-cur  with  our  conclusions  ? 
There  used  to  be  seen  in  London  streets  what  was  called  the 
“  Happy  Family,5’  a  curious  collection  of  domesticated  animals 
and  birds,  among  which  Pussy  figured  conspicuously  in  the 
centre  of  the  cage,  witli  becoming  gravity,  while  canaries  and 
other  singing  birds  perched  upon  her  back,  and  mice,  rats, 
'rabbits,  and  other  creatures  were  all  mingled  together  in  perfect 
harmony — all  their  natural  antipathies  seemingly  annihilated 
by  educational  training.  Cats,  after  all  that  may  be  alleged 
against  them  or  their  claws,  have  yet  been  celebrated  in  books. 
We  have  the  charming  story  of  u  Puss  in  Boots,”  and  the  fairy 
tale  of  “  Whittington  and  his  Cat.”  Then  there  is  the  legend 
of  the  hapless  “  Kilkenny  Cats.”  Besides,  Egyptians  em¬ 
balmed  and  Chinese  ate  cats. 

Of  all  the  curious  institutions  of  charity  ever  heard  of,  is  the 
cat  asylum  at  Aleppo,  which  is  attached  to  one  of  the  mosques 
there,  and  was  founded  by  a  misanthropic  old  Turk,  who, 
being  possessed  of  large  granaries,  was  much  annoyed  by  rats 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


487 


and  mice,  to  rid  himself  of  which  he  employed  a  legion  of  cats ; 
they  rendered  such  effective  service  against  his  assailants,  that 
it  is  said,  he  left  an  endowed  asylum  for  sickly  and  destitute 
cats. 

Puss  has  yet  somehow  got  mixed  up  with  witches  and 
wizards,  with  ghosts  and  goblins ;  moreover  she  is  charged  with 
terrible  crimes,  such  as  sucking  the  breath  out  of  babies,  and 
other  horrible  things.  But  who  would  believe  such  charges,  to 
look  at  her  sleek  and  sober  face,  and  green,  glassy  eyes  ? 

More  dainty  and  delicate  are  pussy’s  tastes  and  manners  than 
those  of  dogs ;  and  they  are,  therefore,  preferred  and  admitted 
to  the  companionship  of  maiden  ladies  and  elderly  spinsters. 
Cowper,  the  pensive  poet,  had  a  penchant  for  Pussy,  as  well  as 
hares  and  rabbits ;  and  Petrarch  was  so  fond  of  the  animal, 
that  on  the  death  of  his  cat  he  had  it  embalmed.  Johnson, 
“  Ursus  Major  ”  though  he  has  been  styled,  had  his  feline  favor¬ 
ite,  and  such  was  his  fondness  for  her,  that  when  on  one  occa¬ 
sion  she  fell  ill,  he  administered  personally  to  her  wants,  feed¬ 
ing  her  upon  a  dish  of  oysters  for  several  days. 

Instances  of  personal  attachment  of  the  cat  are  on  record ; 
one  of  these  is  the  following:  A  lady  residing  in  France 
had  a  favorite  which  constantly  lay  at  her  feet,  seemingly 
always  ready  to  defend  her.  It  never  molested  the  birds 
which  its  mistress  kept ;  it  would  not  even  take  food  from  any 
person  but  herself.  At  the  lady’s  death  the  cat  was  removed 

r 

from  her  chamber,  but  it  made  its  way  there  again  the  next 
morning,  and  kept  pacing  about  the  room,  crying  most  pite¬ 
ously,  as  if  lamenting  its  mistress.  After  the  funeral  it  was 
found  stretched  on  her  grave,  apparently  having  died  from  ex¬ 
cess  of  grief.  The  following  anecdote  of  combined  attach¬ 
ment  and  sagacity  rivals  anything  that  has  been  told  even  of 
the  dog:  “In  the  summer  of  1800  a  physician  of  Lyons  was 
requested  to  inquire  into  a  murder  that  had  been  committed  on 


488 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


a  woman  of  that  city.  He  accordingly  went  to  the  residence 
of  the  deceased,  where  he  found  her  extended  lifeless  on  the 
floor  and  weltering  in  her  blood.  A  large  white  cat  was 
mounted  on  the  cornice  of  a  cupboard ;  there  he  sat  motion¬ 
less,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  corpse.  There  he  continued 
till  the  following  day,  when  the  room  was  filled  with  the 
officers  of  justice;  and  as  soon  as  the  suspected  persons  were 
brought  in,  the  cat’s  eyes  glared  with  increased  fury,  his  hair 
bristled,  and  he  darted  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  where  he 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  gaze  at  them,  and  then  precipitately 
retreated.  The  countenances  of  the  assassins  were  discon¬ 
certed,  and  they  now,  for  the  first  time,  during  the  whole 
course  of  the  horrid  business,  felt  their  atrocious  audacity  for¬ 
sake  them.”  * 

Cats  differ  as  much  in  character  as  human  beings  do ;  and 
like  human  beings,  their  character  is  very  much  to  be  predi¬ 
cated  from  their  countenances.  Southey,  in  his  “  Doctor,” 
gives  a  curious  chapter  upon  the  cats  of  his  acquaintance — a 
chapter  in  which  humor  and  natural  history  are  agreeably  min¬ 
gled  together ;  he  was  evidently  a  close  observer  of  the  habits 
of  poor  puss,  and  took  much  delight  in  the  whims,  frolics,  and 
peculiarities  of  his  favorites. 

The  elephant,  unwieldly  and  uncouth  as  he  seems,  pre¬ 
sents  some  remarkable  features  of  character,  combining  the 
fidelity  of  the  dog,  the  endurance  of  the  camel,  and  the 
docility  of  the  horse,  with  singular  sagacity,  prudence,  and 
courage. 

In  one  of  the  accounts  of  Indian  warfare,  a  body  of  artillery 
was  described  as  proceeding  up  a  hill,  and  the  great  strength 
of  elephants  was  found  highly  advantageous  in  drawing  up  the 
guns.  On  the  carriage  of  one  of  these  guns,  a  little  in  front  of 


*  Chambers’  Miscellany. 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


489 


the  wheels,  sat  an  artillery  man,  resting  himself.  An  elephant, 
drawing  another  gun,  was  advancing  in  regular  order  close  be¬ 
hind.  Whether  from  falling  asleep,  or  over-fatigue,  the  man 
fell  from  his  seat,  and  the  wheel  of  the  gun-carriage,  with  its 
heavy  gun,  was  just  rolling  over  him.  The  elephant,  compre¬ 
hending  the  danger,  and  seeing  that  he  could  not  reach  the 
body  of  the  man  with  his  trunk,  seized  the  wheel  by  the  top, 
and,  lifting  it  up,  passed  it  carefully  over  the  fallen  man,  and 
set  it  dowm  on  the  other  side.  An  Oriental  traveller  furnishes 
some  amusing  incidents  respecting  the  docility  and  sagacious- 
hess  of  this  monstrous  creature.  In  his  journeys,  he  says,  if  he 
wished  to  stop  to  admire  a  beautiful  prospect,  the  animal  re¬ 
mained  immovable  until  his  sketch  was  finished;  if  he  wished 
for  mangoes  growing  out  of  his  reach,  this  faithful  servant 
selected  the  most  fruitful  branch,  and,  breaking  it  off  with  his 
trunk  for  him,  accepted  very  thankfully  of  any  part  for  him¬ 
self,  respectfully  and  politely  acknowledging  the  compliment 
by  raising  his  trunk  three  times  above  his  head,  in  the  manner 
of  Oriental  obeisance.  Docile  as  he  is,  this  noble  quadruped 
seems  conscious  of  his  superior  strength  over  the  rest  of  the 
brute  creation. 

Take  yet  another  example  of  the  shrewd  wit  of  this  colossal 
creature.  Some  men  were  teasing  an  elephant  they  were  con¬ 
veying  across  a  river.  In  the  boat  that  was  towed  alongside 
they  had  a  dog  which  began  to  torment  it  by  pulling  its  ears. 
The  elephant  was  resolved  to  resent  the  impertinence,  and 
what  do  you  suppose  was  her  expedient  ?  She  filled  her  pro¬ 
boscis  with  water,  and  then  deluged  the  whole  party.  At  first 
the  men  laughed  at  the  manoeuvre,  but  she  persisted  until  they 
were  compelled  to  bale  to  keep  from  sinking ;  when  seeing 
this  she  redoubled  her  efforts,  and  it  is  said  she  certainly 
would  have  swamped  the  boat  had  the  passage  across  been 
prolonged  a  few  minutes  further.  Thus  much — although 


m 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


much  more  might  be  presented — in  behalf  of  the  noble  quali¬ 
ties  of  the  elephant. 

We  have  heard  and  read  about  “learned  pigs;”  but  as  their 
physiognomical  development  does  not  indicate  much  in  that 
direction,  and  further,  as  their  habits  are  untidy,  we  shall  not 
introduce  the  parties  to  our  readers. 

The  love  of  fun  seems  to  be  inherent  with  the  monkey  tribe. 
Dr.  Guthrie  relates  the  following  amusing  anecdote:  Jack, 
as  he  was  called,  seeing  his  master  and  some  companions 
drinking,  with  those  imitative  powers  for  which  his  species  is 
remarkable,  finding  half  a  glass  of  whiskey  left,  took  it  up  and 
drank  it  off.  It  flew,  of  course,  to  his  head.  Amid  their  loud 
roars  of  laughter  he  began  to  skip,"  hop,  and  dance.  Jack 
was  drunk.  Hext  day,  when  they  went,  with  the  intention  of 
repeating  the  fun,  to  take  the  poor  monkey  from  his  box,  he 
was  not  to  be  seen.  Looking  inside,  there  he  lay,  crouching 
in  a  corner.  ‘Come  out! 5  said  his  master.  Afraid  to  disobev, 
he  came,  walking  on  three  legs — the  fore-paw  that  was  laid 
on  his  forehead  saying,  as  plain  as  words  could  do,  that  he 
had  a  headache.  Having  left  him  some  days  to  get  well  and 
resume  his  gayety,  they  at  length  carried  him  off  to  the  old 
scene  of  revel.  On  entering,  he  eyed  the  glasses  with  manifest 
terror,  skulking  behind  the  chair ;  and  on  his  master  ordering 
him  to  drink,  he  bolted,  and  he  was  on  the  house-top  in  a 
twinkling.  They  called  him  down.  He  would  not  come. 
His  master  shook  the  whip  at  him.  Jack,  astride  on  the 
ridge-pole,  grinned  defiance.  A  gun,  of  which  he  was  always 
much  afraid,  was  pointed  at  this  disciple  of  temperance  ;  he 
ducked  his  head  and  slipped  over  to  the  back  of  the  house ; 
upon  which,  seeing  his  predicament,  and  less  afraid  apparently 
of  the  fire  than  the  fire-water,  the  monkey  leaped  at  a  bound 
on  the  chimney-top,  and,  getting  down  into  a  flue,  held  on  by 
his  fore-paws.  He  would  rather  be -singed  than  drunk.  He 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


491 


triumphed,  and,  although  his  master  kept  him  for  twelve  years 
after  that,  he  never  could  persuade  the  monkey  to  taste 
another  drop  of  whiskey.”  Good  temperance  monkey  that. 

Mrs.  Lee,  the  naturalist,  tells  us  of  one  belonging  to  her 
'  eldest  daughter,  which  seemed  to  know-  he  could  master  the 
child,  “and  did  not  hesitate  to  bite  and  scratch  her  whenever 
she  pulled  him  a  little  harder  than  he  thought  proper.  I  pun¬ 
ished  him,”  she  adds,  “for  each  offence,  yet  fed  and  caressed 
him  when  good ;  by  which  means  I  possessed  an  entire  ascend¬ 
ancy  over  him.”  The  same  writer  also  gives  an  interesting 
account  of  a  monkey  which  a  man  in  Paris  had  trained  to  a 
variety  of  clever  tricks.  “I  met  him  one  day,”  says  she,  “sud¬ 
denly,  as  he  was  coming  up  the  drawing-room  stairs.  lie 
made  wTay  for  me  by  standing  in  an  angle,  and  when  I  said, 
‘  Good-morning,’  took  off  his  cap,  and  made  me  a  low  bow. 
4 Are  you  going  away?’  I  asked;  ‘where  is  your  passport?’ 
Upon  which  he  took  from  the  same  cap  a  square  piece  of  paper, 
which  he  opened  and  showed  to  me.  His  master  told  him 
my  gown  was  dusty,  and  he  instantly  took  a  small  brush 
from  his  master’s  pocket,  raised  the  hem  of  my  dress,  cleaned 
it,  and  then  did  the  same  for  my  shoes.  lie  was  perfectly 
docile  and  obedient ;  when  we  gave  him  something  to  eat  he 
did  not  cram  his  pouches  with  it,  but  delicately  and  tidily 
devoured  it ;  and  when  wre  bestowed  money  on  him  he  imme¬ 
diately  put  it  into  his  master’s  hands.” 

A  ludicrous  story  is  told  of  a  French  monkey,  belonging  to 
Father  Cassabon,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  carefully  locking 
him  up  on  the  Sabbath.  The  animal,  however,  made  his 
escape  one  Sunday  and  contrived  to  secret  himself  in  a 
crevice  behind  the  priest’s  pulpit.  The  church  service  com¬ 
menced,  and  presently  a  boy  was  seen  by  the  dominie  to  laugh 
right  in  his  face :  this  unseemlv  behavior  wTas  of  course 
frowned  upon  from  the  pulpit,  and  checked  by  his  mother, 


492 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


who  was  seated  with  him.  Soon  she  caught  the  infection,  and 
indeed  it  spread  rapidly  throughout  the  entire  congregation, 
notwithstanding  the  terrible  anathemas  with  which  such  con¬ 
duct  was  visited  by  the  astonished  and  perplexed  parson. 
Finding  all  eyes  directed  to  the  sounding-board  over  his  pul¬ 
pit,  the  unfortunate  priest  looked  there,  when,  to  his  dismay, 
he  saw  his  irreverent  monkey  grinning  at  him,  and  mimicking 
him  to  the  life. 

Naturalists  tell  us  that  the  wonderfully  minute  organization 
of  the  insect  tribes  comprises  brain,  nervous,  and  glandular 
systems,  and  that  in  consequence  their  instructive  intelligence 
is  inferred.  The  ants,  for  instance,  the  models  of  industry  and 
ingenuity,  afford  astonishing  intelligence  in  the  construction  of 
their  cells  and  the  procuring  of  their  food.  The  bees  exhibit 
a  yet  more  surprising  example  of  mimic  human  life,  in  their 
gregarious  habits  and  constructive  skill,  as  well  as  in  the  social 
friendships  and  feuds  and  organized  battles ;  not  to  speak  of 
the  architectural  wonders  of  these  animals,  so  often  described, 
nor  of  the  cares  of  the  workers  for  the  little  larvae. 

The  finny  tribes  are  hidden  from  our  gaze  because  sub¬ 
merged  ;  but  they  have  instincts,  and,  for  aught  we  know  to 
the  contrary,  social  affections,  and  skill  in  the  construction  of 
their  nests.  The  pike,  and  especially  the  cod,  are  said  to  be 
easily  tamed,  and  in  some  instances  trained  to  follow  to  the 
bank  of  a  river  even  their  human  friends.  Sir  Walter  Scott 
being  once  asked  whether  fishes  possessed  less  sensibility  than 
man,  said,  “  it  is  a  delicate  question,  and  one  which  fishes  alone 
would  be  able  to  solve.5’ 

Mr.  Jesse  mentions  a  parrot  which,  when  pleased,  would 
laugh  most  heartily,  and  then  cry  out,  “  Don’t  make  me  laugh 
so  :  I  shall  die,  I  shall  die.”  The  bird  would  also  mimic  sob¬ 
bing,  and  exclaim,  “  So  bad,  so  bad ;  got  such  a  cold.”  If  any 
one  happened  to  cough,  he  would  call  out,  “What  a  bad  cold  !  ” 


THE  MUTE  CHEATIOX. 


493 


Take  another  illustration :  Mrs.  Lee,  in  lier  “  Anecdotes,” 
states  that  one  day  her  gardener  was  struck  by  the  strange  con¬ 
duct  of  a  robin,  which  the  man  had  often  fed.  The  bird  flut¬ 
tered  about  him  in  so  strange  a  manner — now  coming  close, 
then  hurrying  away,  always  in  the  same  direction — that  the 
gardener  followed  its  retreating  movements.  The  robin  stopped 
near  a  flower  pot  and  fluttered  over  it  in  great  agitation.  A 
nest  had  been  formed  there  containing  several  young  ones ;  and 
close  by  was  discovered  a  snake,  intent  doubtless  upon  making 
a  meal  of  the  brood.  The  man  saw  the  reason  of  the  bird’s  con¬ 
duct,  and  carried  off  the  snake,  upon  which  the  redbreast  ex¬ 
pressed  its  joy  by  a  burst  of  song  and  triumphant  flutterings. 
The  incident  carries  its  own  comment :  the  bird  sought  protec¬ 
tion  from  its  foe,  and,  having  succeeded  in  obtaining  it,  did 
more  than  some  bipeds  do — sang  his  thanks  in  return. 

The  same  authority  relates  the  case  of  an  unprincipled  Mag¬ 
pie ,  who  belonged  to  a  toll-keeper  in  an  English  county  town ; 
the  bird  having  often  heard  the  words,  “  gate  ahoy,”  learned  to 
pronounce  them  himself;  and  finding  that  his  mistress  always 
wrnnt  out  to  the  gate  whenever  the  call  was  made,  he  mimicked 
the  sound  so  perfectly  that  on  one  occasion  he  induced  her  to 
leave  her  dinner,  when  the  bird  instantly  flew  to  the  table  and 
made  free  with  its  dainties.  This  trick  he  practised  again,  but 
he  was  at  length  found  out  in  the  fraud.  It  was  a  clear  case 
of  obtaining  food  under  false  pretences ;  yet  what  an  ingenious 
theft  it  was. 

Even  the  goose ,  which  is  not  the  accepted  symbol  of  wisdom, 
has  been  much  slandered,  if  the  story  related  by  a  recent  au¬ 
thority*  be  admitted  in  evidence.  “  In  Germany  an  aged  blind 
woman  was  led  to  church  every  Sunday  by  a  gander,  which 
dragged  her  along,  holding  her  gown  in  his  beak.  As  soon  as 
the  old  woman  wTas  seated  in  her  pew  the  gander  retired  to  the 


*  Menault. 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


494 

church-yard  to  feed  upon  the  grass,  and  when  the  service  was 
ended  he  conducted  his  mistress  to  her  home !  ” 

Bnt  it  is  among  the  mammalia  that  we  are  to  look  for  the 
closest  approximation  to,  and  understanding  of,  the  human  race. 
Jackson  relates  an  instance  of  the  sagacity  of  the  horse  :  “  The 
animal  had  been  carelessly  shod,  and  probably  suffered  pain  in 
consequence.  The  creature  seems  to  have  been  quite  aware  of 
the  proper  remedy,  for  a  few  days  after  the  shoeing  operation 
the  farrier  was  amazed  to  see  the  horse  approach  the  door  of 
the  workshop  and  hold  up  the  hoof.  An  inspection  soon 
showed  the  nature  of  the  fault,  which  being  rectified,  the  ani¬ 
mal  went  off  satisfied.”  The  clever  manner  in  which  this  horse 
escaped  from  its  meadow  was  as  follows  :  having  no  means  of 
unlocking  the  gate  he  had  actually  lifted  one  end  off  the  hinges 
with  his  teeth,  and  was  thus  able  to  get  through. 

Numerous  anecdotes  of  the  fidelity  and  sagacity  of  the  horse 
are  given,  one  of  which  we  transcribe ;  it  is  as  follows :  “  On 
one  occasion  a  farmer  was  returning  to  his  home  near  Edin¬ 
burgh,  from  a  jovial  meeting,  where  he  had  been  very  liberal 
in  his  potations.  After  riding  some  distance  on  horseback  he 
became  somewhat  drowsy,  when  he  had  the  misfortune  to  fall 
from  the  saddle.  TIis  fall  was,  however,  so  easy  that  it  did  not 
rouse  him  from  his  sleepy  fit  and  he  felt  quite  contented  to  rest 
where  he  had  alighted.  TIis  faithful  steed,  on  being  eased  of 
his  burden,  instead  of  scampering  home,  stood  and  kept  a  watch 
all  night  over  his  prostrate  master,  whom  some  early  wayfarers 
discovered  next  day  still  sleeping.  They  attempted  to  replace 
him  on  the  saddle,  but  every  attempt  to  come  near  him  was 
resolutely  opposed  by  the  grinning  teeth  and  ready  heels  of  his 
faithful  and  determined  guardian.” 

Even  the  donkey  is  a  misunderstood  and  much  injured  ani¬ 
mal,  as  well  as  the  poor  unoffending,  innocent  sheep ;  for  both 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


495 


have  much  more  intelligence  than  we  are  accustomed  to  sup¬ 
pose,  even  though  they  may  not  be  brilliant. 

A  good  story  is  told  of  the  donkey  of  a  Lancashire  carrier. 
The  master  was  accustomed  to  stop  at  a  public  house  for  ale,  a 
little  of  which  was  always  kindly  given  to  his  quadruped.  Af¬ 
ter  a  time  the  carrier  turned  teetotaler,  but  the  animal  objected 
to  the  change,  for  whenever  he  came  to  the  aforesaid  alehouse 
he  insisted,  as  heretofore,  in  stopping,  and  no  expostulation  of 
his  master  could  prevent  it.  The  publican,  who  held  teetotalism 
to  be  the  eighth  deadly  sin,  at  length  persuaded  the  good-na¬ 
tured  master  actually  to  purchase  the  ale  now,  not  to  please 
himself,  but  his  ass,  as  he  felt  himself  responsible  to  the  poor 
brute  for  first  teaching  him  the  evil  habit.  The  ass  sank  as  a 
moralist,  but  rose  as  a  genius  by  the  force  of  his  will.  It  was 
an  honor,  some  even  thought,  to  have  such  a  donkey  in  the 
district. 

The  abusy  bee”  is  so  familiar  to  all  that  it  will  not  be 
necessary  for  us  to  refer  to  its  peculiarity  of  structure,  further 
than  to  state  that  the  worker  is  invested  with  an  extra  stomach, 
which  is  called  the  honey-bag,  in  which  it  deposits  the  sweets 
or  saccharine  matter  it  collects  from  blossoms,  fruits,  and  flow¬ 
ers.  “  The  most  profound  philosopher,  equally  with  the  most 
incurious  mortals,”  says  Kirby,  “  is  struck  with  astonishment 
on  inspecting  the  interior  of  a  bee-hive :  he  beholds  a  city  in 
miniature.  He  sees  this  city  divided  into  regular  streets,  these 
streets  composed  of  houses  constructed  on  the  most  exact 
geometrical  principles,  and  the  most  symmetrical  plan — some 
serving  for  storehouses  for  food,  others  for  the  habitations  of 
the  citizens,  and  a  few,  much  more  extensive  than  the  rest, 
destined  for  the  palaces  of  the  sovereign.  lie  perceives  that 
the  substance  of  which  the  whole  city  is  built  is  one  which 
man,  with  all  his  skill,  is  unable  to  fabricate ;  and  that  the 
edifices  are  such  as  the  most  expert  artist  would  find  himself 


490 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


incompetent  to  erect :  yet  the  whole  is  the  work  of  a  society  of 
mere  insects ! 55 

A  number  of  honeycombs,  composed  of  cells  for  the  most 
part  hexagonal  or  six-sided,  regularly  applied  to  each  other’s 
sides,  and  arranged  in  two  strata  or  layers,  placed  end  to  end, 
are  fixed  to  the  upper  part  and  sides  of  the  interior  of  the  hive. 
These  combs  are  arranged  vertically  at  a  small  distance  from 
each  other,  so  that  the  cells  composing  them  are  placed  in  a 
horizontal  position,  and  have  their  openings  in  different  direc¬ 
tions.  The  distance  between  the  combs  is  about  half  an  inch, 
sufficient  to  allow  two  bees  to  pass  each  other  easily :  besides 
these  vacancies,  the  combs  ,  are  here  and  there  pierced  with 
holes,  which  serve  as  a  means  of  communication  from  one 
comb  to  another. 

Many  amusing  if  not  extravagant  stories  are  given  by 
naturalists  respecting  the  exceeding  loyalty  of  bees  to  their 
queen ;  their  passion  for  monarchy  indeed  brings  them  into 
near  connection  with  the  ants.  The  following  anecdote  will 
illustrate  this :  “  A  young  girl  of  my  acquaintance,”  says  the 
narrator,  “  was  greatly  afraid  of  bees,  and  she  became  com¬ 
pletely  cured  of  her  timidity  by  the  following  incident.  A 
swarm  having  come  off,  I  observed  the  queen  alight  by  herself 
at  a  little  distance  from  the  apiary.  I  immediately  called  my 
little  friend,  that  I  might  show  her  the  queen ;  she  wished  to 
inspect  her  more  closely ;  so,  having  caused  her  to  put  on  her 
gloves,  I  gave  the  queen  into  her  hand.  We  were  in  an  in¬ 
stant  surrounded  by  the  whole  bees  of  the  swarm.  In  this 
emergency  I  encouraged  the  girl  to  be  steady,  bidding  her  to 
be  silent  and  to  fear  nothing,  and  remaining  myself  close  by 
her.  I  then  made  her  stretch  out  her  right  hand,  which  held 
the  queen,  and  covered  her  head  and  shoulders  with  a  very 
thin  handkerchief:  the  swarm  soon  fixed  on  her  hand,  and 
hung  from  it  as  from  the  branch  of  a  tree.  The  little  girl  was 


THE  MTTTE  CREATION. 


497 


delighted  beyond  measure  at  the  novel  sight,  and  so  entirely 
freed  from  all  fear,  that  she  bade  me  uncover  her  face.  The 
spectators  were  charmed  by  the  interesting  spectacle.  At 
length  I  brought  a  hive,  and  shaking  the  swarm  from  the 
child’s  hand,  it  was  lodged  in  safety,  and  without  inflicting  a 
single  wound.” 

The  delicate  fabric  of  the  spider’s  web  is  a  miracle  of  skill ; 
although  so  fine  as  to  be  scarcely  visible  without  the  aid  of  a 
microscope,  the  spider’s  thread  is  nevertheless  composed,  not  of 
a  single  line,  as  is  usually  supposed,  but,  as  we  learn  from  good 
authority,  of  not  less  than  four  thousand  strands.  And  this  is 
true  with  respect  to  spiders  not  larger  than  a  grain  of  sand,  as 
well  as  the  largest  specimens.  The  gauze-like  texture  of  the 
web  of  the  house-spider,  as  well  as  the  beautiful  net  more  com¬ 
monly  found  among  the  foliage,  composed  of  a  series  of  con¬ 
centric  circles,  united  b}T  radii  diverging  from  the  centre,  are 
both  exquisite  specimens  of  insect  skill. 

“  Man  thinks  that  he  stands  unrivalled  as  an  architect,  and 
that  his  productions  far  transcend  the  works  of  the  inferior 
order  of  animals.  lie  would  be  of  a  different  opinion  did  he 
attend  to  the  history  of  insects ;  he  would  find  that  many  of 
them  have  been  architects  from  time  immemorial ;  that  they 
had  their  houses  divided  into  various  apartments,  and  contain¬ 
ing  staircases,  elegant  arches,  domes,  colonnades,  and  the  like. 
No  feminine  ornament  is  more  prized  and  costly  than  lace,  the 
invention  and  fabrication  of  which  seems  the  exclusive  claim 
of  the  softer  sex.  But  even  here  they  have  been  anticipated  by 
these  little  industrious  creatures,  which  often  defend  their  help¬ 
less  chrysalides  by  a  most  singular  covering — and  as  beautiful 
as  singular — of  lace.  Other  arts  have  been  equally  forestalled 
by  these  insects.  We  imagine  that  nothing  short  of  human 
intellect  can  be  equal  to  the  construction  of  a  diving-bell  or 
air-pump — yet  a  spider  is  in  the  daily  habit  of  using  the  one, 
32 


498 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


and  what  is  more,  one  exactly  similar  in  principle  to  ours,  but 
more  ingeniously  contrived ;  by  means  of  which  she  resides 
unwetted  in  the  bosom  of  the  w^ater,  and  procures  the  neces¬ 
sary  supplies  of  air  by  a  much  more  simple  process  than  our  al¬ 
ternating  buckets — and  the  caterpillar  of  a  little  moth  knows 
how  to  imitate  the  other,  producing  a  vacuum,  when  necessary 
for  its  purposes,  without  any  piston  besides  its  own  body. 

“  If  we  think  with  wonder  of  the  populous  cities  which  have 
employed  the  united  labors  of  man  for  many  ages  to  bring 
them  to  their  full  extent,  what  shall  we  think  of  the  white 
ants,  wdiich  require  only  a  few  months  to  build  a  metropolis 
capable  of  containing  an  infinitely  greater  number  of  inhabit¬ 
ants  than  even  the  imperial  Isineveh,  Babylon,  or  Pekin,  in 
all  their  glory  ?  ”  * 

That  insects  should  thus  have  forestalled  us  in  our  inven¬ 
tions  ought  to  urge  us  to  pay  a  closer  attention  to  them  and 
their  ways  than  we  have  hitherto  done ;  since  it  is  not  at  all 
improbable  that  the  result  would  supply  useful  hints  for  the 
improvement  of  our  arts  and  manufactures,  and  perhaps  be 
the  clue  to  some  beneficial  discoveries. 

Although  parrots  are  excessively  amusing  in  their  small 
talk,  yet,  as  they  cannot  be  supposed  to  be  conscious  of  what 
they  say,  we  can  only  refer  to  them  here,  en  passant,  on  the 
ground  that  they  bear  some  seeming  analogy,  in  this  respect, 
to  some  human  talkers.  Mrs.  Lee,  in  her  “  Anecdotes  of  Birds,” 
mentions  the  instance  of  a  parrot  that  had  lost  one  of  its  legs, 
and  no  sooner  did  any  one  remark  this,  or  ask  how  it  had  been 
lost,  than  it  replied  :  “  I  lost  my  leg  in  the  merchant  service  ; 
pray  remember  the  lame.” 

The  following  story  has  often  been  recited  before,  but  it  will 
bear  repeating :  “  A  tradesman  who  had  a  shop  in  the  Old 


*  ETrby. 


THE  MUTE  CREATION. 


499 


Bailey,  London,  opposite  Newgate  prison,  kept  two  parrots,  a 
green  and  a  gray.  The  green  parrot  was  taught  to  speak  when 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  street-door  ;  the  gray,  whenever  the 
bell  rang ;  but  they  only  knew  two  short  phrases  of  English. 
The  house  in  which  they  lived  had  an  old-fashioned,  project¬ 
ing  front,  so  that  the  first  floor  could  not  be  seen  from  the 
pavement  on  the  same  side  of  the  way,  and,  on  one  occasion, 
they  were  left  outside  the  window  by  themselves,  when  some 
one  knocked  at  the  street-door.  4  Who  is  there  ? 5  said  the  green 
parrot.  4  The  man  with  the  leather,’  was  the  reply ;  to  which 
the  bird  answered,  4  Oh  !  oh  !  ’  The  door  not  being  opened, 
the  stranger  knocked  a  second  time.  4  Who  is  there  %  ’  said 
green  poll.  4  Who  is  there  \  ’  exclaimed  the  man.  4  Why 
don’t  you  come  down  ?  ’  4  Oh,  oh  !  ’  repeated  the  parrot. 

This  so  enraged  the  stranger  that  he  rang  the  bell  furiously. 
4  Go  to  the  gate,’  said  a  new  voice,  which  belonged  to  the  gray 
parrot.  4  To  the  gate  %  ’  repeated  the  man,  who  saw  no  such 
entrance,  and  who  thought  that  the  servants  were  bantering 
him.  4  What  gate  \  ’  he  asked,  stepping  back  to  view  the  prem¬ 
ises. 

44  4  New-gate,’ responded  the  gray,  just  as  the  angry  appli¬ 
cant  discovered  who  had  been  answering  his  summons.” 

Parrots  have  been  known  to  mimic  the  sound  of  planing  a 
deal  board,  the  mewing  of  a  cat,  or  the  barking  of  a  dog,  so  ac¬ 
curately  as  to  deceive  the  closest  observers. 

The  predilection  of  animals  for  particular  persons  was  once 
the  means  of  deciding,  very  amusingly,  a  case  before  a  court 
of  justice.  It  was  at  a  Dublin  police-office,  and  the  object  of 
dispute  was  a  pet  parrot  which  had  been  stolen  from  a  Mr. 
Davis  and  sold  to  a  Mr.  Moore.  The  plaintiff,  taking  the  bird 
upon  his  finger,  said,  44  Come,  old  boy,  give  me  a  kiss,”  which 
the  parrot  instantly  did.  A  youth,  in  the  defendant’s  interest, 
remarked  that  this  proved  nothing,  as  the  parrot  would  kiss 


500 


THE  MUTE  CREATION 


anybody.  “  You  had  better  not  try,”  remarked  the  plaintiff. 
Nevertheless  the  young  man  asked  the  parrot  to  kiss  him. 
Poll,  Judas-like,  advanced  as  if  to  give  the  required  salute, 
but  seized  the  youth’s  lip  and  made  him  roar  with  pain.  This 
fact,  and  the  parrot’s  obeying  the  plaintiff  in  several  other 
requisitions,  caused  it  to  be  instantly  ordered  into  the  posses¬ 
sion  of  its  original  master. 

Here  we  close  our  remarks  about  the  winged  and  walking 
things  of  earth,  whose  characteristic,  developments  are  so  sug¬ 
gestive  of  moral  instruction  to  us ;  and  although  the  lessons 
they  teach  are  fraught  with  deepest  interest,  and  cannot  but 
reflect  a  beneficial  influence,  yet  it  is  to  be  feared  but  too 
many  are  found  inaccessible  to  their  power  and  inaudible  to 
their  teaching. 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


“0  sleep !  the  certain  knot  of  peace, — 

The  baiting-place  of  wit,  the  balm  of  woe  : 

The  poor  man's  wealth,  the  prisoner's  release, 

The  impartial  judge  between  the  high  and  low.” — Sir  P.  Sidney. 

What  is  the  phenomenon  we  call  sleep, — that  is  the  ques¬ 
tion?  We  ask  the  physiologist,  and  he  gives  us  its  diagnosis, 
but  that  is  all.  Blumenbach  attributed  it  to  a  diminished  flow 
of  arterial  blood  to  the  brain,  but  Elliotson,  his  commentator, 
suggests  that  this  slower  circulation  is  the  effect,  not  the  cause 
of  sleep.  Indeed,  although  much  learned  discussion  has  been 
devoted  to  the  subject,  sleep  is  yet  a  profound  puzzle  to  us. 


502 


SLEEP  AZSTD  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


Boerliaave  speaks  of  a  German  physician  or  metaphysician 
who  held  to  the  drowsy  theory,  that  sleep  was  the  natural  con¬ 
dition  of  man ;  but  his  own  experience  bore  witness  against 
him,  for  he  is  said  to  have  slept  himself  at  last  into  an 
apoplexy.  It  is,  however,  safe  to  affirm  that  sleeping  and  wak¬ 
ing  are  the  two  great  phenomena  of  our  existence.  It  is  also 
patent  to  all  that  our  bodies,  like  our  watches,  require  winding 
up,  or  they  will  run  down  and  stop  !  The  mainspring  of  the 
one,  however,  has  to  be  treated  differently  to  that  of  the  other, 
because  its  mechanism  is  differently  constructed.  In  attempt¬ 
ing  a  little  familiar  talk  about  so  soporific  as  ubject  as  sleep, 
we  must  be  careful  on  our  part  not  to  put  the  reader  under 
the  somnolent  influence  of  the  drowsy  god  Morpheus.  “  Half 
our  days  we  pass  in  the  shadow  of  the  earth,’5  says  Sir  Thomas 
Browne,  “  and  the  brother  of  death  extracteth  a  third  part  of  our 
lives.”  Best  and  activity  make  up  the  existence  we  call  life  ; 
their  alternation  is  as  inexorable  a  law  as  that  of  day  and 
night.  Our  physical  system  recuperates  principally  during 
sleep,  because  then  it  is  that  nutrition  goes  on  most  actively ;  it 
is  then  also,  as  the  doctors  say,  that  “  the  brain  feeds.”  Some 
writers  call  sleep  a  temporary  metaphysical  death.  Shakespeare 
beautifully  says,  “  Our  little  life  is  rounded  by  a  sleep.” 
Cervantes  piquantly  remarks,  “  It  covers  a  man  all  over, 
thoughts  and  all,  like  a  cloak.”  Saxe  adds  a  stanza : 

1 1  ‘  God  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep  !  ’ 

So  Sancho  Panza  said,  and  so  say  I ! 

And  bless  him  also,  that  he  didn’t  keep 
His  great  discovery  to  himself,  or  try 
To  make  it — as  the  lucky  fellow  might — 

A  close  monopoly,  by  ‘patent-right.’  ” 

Sleep,  then,  being  a  fixed  institution  of  humanity  as  well  as 
of  animals,  and,  in  part  at  least,  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  is, 
like  the  air  we  breathe,  an  indispensable  blessing.  IVe  are  not 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


503 


apt  to  estimate  too  highly  the  priceless  boon :  yet  were  its 
gentle  visitations  but  intermitted  even  for  a  night  or  two  in 
succession,  we  should  be  better  fitted  to  form  an  idea  of  its 
inestimable  value.  When  wearied  with  the  day’s  drudgery  and 
turmoil,  how  inexpressibly  grateful  is  it  to  surrender  our¬ 
selves  to  its  sweet  oblivion.  The  quiet  hour  of  wonted  repose 
steals  upon  us  like  a  charm,  and  we  yield  ourselves  to  its 
mollifying  and  soothing  influence  as  the  universal  panacea.  It 
has  been  said  that, 

“  In  perfect  sleep  there  is  no  consciousness.  It  has  been 
therefore  called  with  truth  the  image  of  death.  It  is  a  tempo¬ 
rary  death,  as  far  as  concerns  all  action  and  motion  which  lie 
under  the  power  of  our  will.  But  although  the  brain  is  at  rest, 
the  heart  and  lungs  continue  their  tasks,  because  they  are  pre¬ 
sided  over  by  a  department  of  the  nervous  system,  which  acts 
independently  of  the  brain.  The  brain  is  the  seat  of  conscious¬ 
ness,  and  from  it  all  the  nerves  winch  originate  and  control 
voluntary  motions  more  or  less  directly  take  their  rise.” 

There  is  also  a  state  of  coma ,  or  abnormal  sleep ;  which  is, 
indeed,  a  preternatural  or  morbid  condition  of  lethargy,  in¬ 
duced  by  natural  or  artificial  causes.  Collateral  with  sleep 
may  be  also  mentioned  hysteria,  trance,  catalepsy,  syncope, 
paralysis,  magnetic  sleep,  and  epilepsy,  which  last  is  caused  by 
a  stoppage  of  the  electric  currents  centring  in  the  spine. 

If  sleep  be  such  an  essential  restorative  to  our  physical  and 
mental  systems,  how  terrible  upon  criminals  must  be  the  tor¬ 
ture  of  the  Chinese  punishment  of  preventing  it.  The  victim 
is  kept  awake  by  guards  alternately  watching:  death  super¬ 
venes,  usually,  after  from  twelve  to  twenty  days’  endurance. 

The  most  unfavorable  condition  for  sleep  cannot  prevent  its 
approach.  Coachmen  slumber  on  their  boxes,  and  couriers 
on  their  horses,  while  soldiers  fall  asleep  on  the  field  of  battle, 
amidst  all  the  noise  of  artillery  and  the  tumult  of  war.  Dur- 


504 


SLEEP  AXD  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


ing  the  retreat  of  Sir  John  Moore  several  of  the  British 
soldiers  were  reported  to  have  fallen  asleep  on  the  march,  and 
yet  they  continued  walking  onward.  The  most  violent  pas¬ 
sions  and  excitement  of  mind  cannot  preserve  even  powerful 
minds  from  sleep ;  thus  Alexander  the  Great  slept  on  the  iield 
of  Arbela,  and  Napoleon  on  that  of  Austerlitz.  Noises,  which 
serve  at  first  to  drive  away  sleep,  soon  become  indispensable  to 
its  existence  ;  thus  a  stage-coach  stopping  to  change  horses 
wakes  all  the  passengers.  The  proprietor  of  an  iron  forge? 
who  slept  close  to  the  din  of  hammers,  forges,  and  blast  fur¬ 
naces,  would  awake  if  there  was  any  interruption  to  them  during 
the  night ;  and  a  sick  miller,  who  had  his  mill  stopped  on  that 
account,  passed  sleepless  nights  till  the  mill  resumed  its  noise. 

Leigh  Hunt  furnishes  some  pleasant  thoughts  upon  the  sub¬ 
ject,  from  which  we  cite  a  passage.  “  It  is  a  delicious  moment, 
certainly,”  he  writes,  “  that  of  being  well  nestled  in  bed  and 
feeling  that  you  shall  drop  gently  to  sleep.  The  good  is  to 
come,  not  past ;  the  limbs  have  just  been  tired  enough  to  ren¬ 
der  the  remaining  in  one  posture  delightful ;  the  labor  of  the 
day  is  done.  A  gentle  failure  of  the  perceptions  comes  creep¬ 
ing  over  one  ;  the  spirit  of  consciousness  disengages  itself  more 
and  more,  with  slow  and  hushing  degrees,  like  a  mother  de¬ 
taching  her  hand  from  her  sleeping  child;  the  mind  seems  to 
have  a  balmy  lid  over  it,  like  the  eye ;  ’tis  closing — more  clos¬ 
ing — ’tis  closed.  The  mysterious  spirit  has  gone  to  make  its 
airy  rounds. 

“  The  day  emphatically  belongs  to  earth :  we  yield  it  with¬ 
out  reluctance  to  care  and  labor.  We  toil,  we  drudge,  we 
pant,  we  play  the  hack-horse ;  we  do  things  smilingly  from 
which  we  recoil  in  secret ;  we  pass  by  sweet  spots  and  rare 
faces  that  our  very  heart  yearns  for,  without  betraying  the 
effort  it  costs;  and  thus  we  drag  through  the  twelve  long 
hours,  disgusted  almost,  but  gladdened  withal,  that  the  mask 


SLEEP  AjSD  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


505 


will  have  an  end,  and  the  tedious  game  be  over,  and  our  visor 
and  our  weapons  be  laid  aside.  But  the  night  is  the  gift  of 
heaven ;  it  brings  freedom  and  repose ;  its  influence  falls 
coolly  and  gratefully  upon  the  mind  as  well  as  the  body ;  and 
when  drops  the  extinguisher  upon  the  light  which  glimmers 
upon  the  round,  untouched  pillow,  we,  at  the  same  time,  put 
out  a  world  of  cares  and  perplexities.” 

But  for  this  wonted  repose  how  monotonous  and  wearisome 
would  life  become ;  not  man  alone,  but  all  nature  would  begin 
to  faint  and  die,  like  the  seared  foliage  of  autumn.  This  ne¬ 
cessity  for  periodical  repose  seems  to  be  an  essential  law  of  all 
animated  life,  with  scarce  a  single  exception.  The  feathered 
tribe  cease  their  minstrelsy  as  the  shades  of  eventide  spread 
over  the  face  of  all  things — a  type  of  sleep  itself  with  its  closed 
eyelids.  All  seek  their  needed  rest. 

Instances  on  record  of  protracted  sleep  are  both  numerous 
and  interesting ;  but  we  can  notice  one  or  two  only.  It  is 
stated  in  the  records  of  the  Boyal  Society  of  Edinburgh,  that 
“  a  woman  slept  continuously  from  the  first  of  July  until  the 
eighth  of  August.  During  the  first  seven  days  she  continued 
motionless,  and  exhibited  no  inclination  to  eat ;  after  which 
time  she  would  move  her  hand  to  her  mouth,  signifying  a  wish 
for  food,  which  was  given  to  her.  She  evinced  no  symptom  of 
hearing  till  about  four  days  prior  to  her  recovery.  During 
this  long  interval  of  nearly  forty  days  and  nights,  she  contin¬ 
ued  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness.”  In  the  somnolent  state, 
life  can  be  sustained  by  a  small  portion  of  food. 

“  In  the  middle  of  the  last  century  a  young  Frenchwoman,  at 
Toulouse,  had,  for  half  a  year,  fits  of  lengthened  sleep,  varying 
from  three  to  thirteen  days  each.  About  the  same  time,  a  girl 
at  Eewcastle-on-Tyne  slept  fourteen  weeks  without  waking; 
and  the  waking  process  occupied  three  days  to  complete.  Doc¬ 
tor  Blanchet,  of  Paris,  mentions  the  case  of  a  lady  who  slept  for 


506 


SLEEP  AJND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


twenty  days  together  when  she  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age, 
fifty  days  when  she  was  about  twenty,  and  had  nearly  a  whole 
year’s  sleep,  from  Easter  Sunday,  1862,  till  March,  1863 ;  during 
this  long  sleep  (which  physicians  call  hysteric  coma)  she  was 
fed  with  milk  and  soup,  one  of  her  front  teeth  being  extracted 
to  obtain  an  opening  into  her  mouth. 

Cognate  with  sleep  is  the  phenomenon  we  call  dreams.  Phy¬ 
sics  and  metaphysics,  psychology  and  other  occult  sciences,  have 
been  appealed  to  for  a  solution  of  the  mystery,  but  in  vain. 
Dreams  cannot  be  called  echoes  of  our  waking-thoughts,  be¬ 
cause  they  do  not  reflect  them  with  any  uniformity ;  indeed  it  is 
but  rarely  they  do  so.  Dreams  seem  to  be  sometimes  engen¬ 
dered  of  a  disturbed  digestion  and  also  of  a  morbid  state  of 
mental  excitement.  We  do  not  know  much  more  than  the  an¬ 
cients  about  dreams ;  although  such  multitudes  have  been  in 
dreamland,  is  it  not  strange  that  it  yet  remains  a  terra  incog¬ 
nita  f  Physiologists  now  incline  to  the  theory  that  all  dream, 
and  dream  at  all  times  throughout  their  sleep  ;  which  has  been 
heretofore  a  debatable  point  with  the  doctors.  Few,  however, 
remember  their  dreams,  if  they  do  always  dream  in  sleep.  Of 
the  class  of  dreams  suggested  by  previous  mental  preoccupa¬ 
tion,  there  are  many  recorded  incidents.  It  is  undeniable  that 
some  men  have  been  smarter  when  they  were  asleep  than  when 
they  were  awake.  Chess-players,  metaphysicians,  and  mathe¬ 
maticians  often  dream  to  good  purpose.  Sir  Thomas  Browne 
confesses  that  he  could  grapple  with  metaphysical  difficulties 
better  in  his  dreams  than  in  his  waking  hours.  Napier  is  said 
to  have  dreamed  out  the  science  of  logarithms. 

There  seem  to  be  a  mystery  and  fascination  connected  with 
the  subject,  from  the  fact  that  dreams  are  involuntary  and  in 
some  instances  are  prophetic  of  evil  or  good  fortune.  Then, 
again  the  strange  incongruities  which  characterize  most  dreams 
— memory  and  imagination  mingling  their  wildest  flights  in 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


507 


defiance  of  reason  and  common  sense.  On  the  other  hand  some, 
like  Coleridge,  have  h ad „  remarkably  intellectual  dreams  ;  his 
gorgeous  poem  of  Kubla  Khan  for  example.  Sartini,  a  cele¬ 
brated  violinist,  composed  one  of  his  famous  sonatas  in  a  dream. 
Condorcet,  having  once  left  his  calculations  in  an  unfinished 
state,  took  up  the  thread  of  them  in  a  dream,  and  finished  them. 
It  is  in  the  nocturnal  hours  of  sleep  that  conscience  some¬ 
times  holds  her  court  of  inquest  upon  crime.  “  The  F uries  still 
follow  Orestes ;  ”  and  where  the  culprit  has  escaped  convic¬ 
tion  at  a  human  tribunal,  conscience  has  occasionally  become 
his  accuser  to  bring  him  to  judgment. 

Visions  nocturnal  have  been  the  divinely  appointed  media  of 
communication  in  the  patriarchal  age,  and  it  was  doubtless 
owing  to  these  real  events  that  a  superstitious  veneration  for 
dreams  has  obtained  in  all  times  among  the  nations  of  the 
world.  Many  surprising  instances  of  prophetic  dreams  and 
premonitions  have  been  collected  by  writers,  which  tend  to  keep 
alive  a  belief  in  their  supernatural  origin. 

Dr.  Abercrombie  says  he  is  enabled  to  give  the  following 
anecdote  as  entirely  authentic  :  “  A  lady  dreamed  that  an  aged 
female  relative  had  been  murdered  by  a  black  servant,  and  the 
dream  occurred  more  than  once.  She  was  then  so  strangely 
impressed  by  it  that  she  went  to  the  house  of  the  lady  to  whom 
it  related,  and  prevailed  upon  a  gentleman  to  watch  in  an  ad¬ 
joining  room  the  following  night.  About  three  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  the  gentleman,  hearing  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  left 
his  place  of  concealment,  and  met  the  servant  carrying  up  a 
quantity  of  coals.  Being  questioned  as  to  where  he  was  going, 
he  replied,  in  a  confused  manner,  that  he  was  going  to  mend  his 
mistress’  fire,  which,  at  three  o’clock  in  the  morning,  in  the 
middle  of  summer,  was  evidently  impossible  ;  and,  on  further 
investigation,  a  strong  knife  was  found  concealed  beneath  the 
coals.”  “  Another  lady,”  he  says,  “  dreamed  that  a  boy,  her 


508 


SLEEP  AXD  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


nephew,  had  been  drowned  along  with  some  young  companions 
with  whom  he  had  been  engaged  to  go  on  a  sailing  excursion 
in  the  Frith  of  Forth.  She  sent  for  him  in  the  morning,  and 
prevailed  on  him  to  give  up  his  engagement.  His  companions 
went  and  were  all  drowned.’5 

The  alarm  with  regard  to  the  disappearance  of  Maria  Martin 
was  brought  to  its  height  bv  the  mother  dreaming,  three  sue- 
cessive  nights,  that  her  daughter  had  been  murdered  and 
buried  in  the  Red  Barn.  Upon  this,  search  was  made,  the 
floor  taken  up,  and  the  murdered  body  discovered.  The  story 
is  fully  related  in  Chambers'1  Journal  for  1832. 

That  many  remarkable  and  well-attested  dreams  have  been 
reconcilable  to  after  events,  is  beyond  question — night  visions 
and  night  promptings  which  could  not  be  explained  by  any 
theory  of  connection  of  ideas,  or  “  imperfect  recollections,55  or 
revival  of  associations  utterly  forgotten  by  the  waking  senses. 
On  the  contrary,  new  images  have  been  evolved  in  slumber, 
apparently  pointing  toward  future  events,  or  seeming  to  con¬ 
vey  awful  warnings  against  unsuspected  dangers,  or  suggesting 
remedies  for  evils  long  endured  ;  and  numerous  are  the  cases 
wherein  results  have  been  in  unison  with  the  supposed  augury. 

But  it  is  not  so  much  in  reference  to  the  causes  and  general 
nature  of  dreams,  as  to  their  supposed  power  of  divination,  that 
a  few  words  are  devoted  to  them  in  the  present  pages.  “  We 
know,  pretty  well  now,55  says  Horace  Walpole,  in  one  of  his 
letters,  “  that  dreams  which  used  to  pass  for  predictions  are 
imperfect  recollections.55  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  oneirocritics, 
when  baffled  in  their  attempts  to  establish  any  similitude 
between  the  “  auguries  55  of  sleep  and  subsequent  or  preceding 
facts,  turn  about,  and  vindicate  the  prophetic  character  of 
dreams  by  dissimilitude  and  contrariety .  Thus,  they  are 
certain  to  be  right,  one  way  or  the  other. 

A  gravestone-cutter  of  Wakefield,  in  Yorkshire,  desiring  to 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


509 


finish  the  epitaph  on  a  certain  tombstone,  left  his  home  one 
evening  for  the  church,  in  which  he  was  permitted  occasionally 
to  work.  Having  arrived  there,  he  set  down  his  lantern,  and 
lighting  another  candle,  resumed  his  rather  gloomy  task. 
Midnight  approached,  and  still  his  work  was  not  completed. 
On  a  sudden,  a  strange  noise,  as  of  the  utterance  of  “  hiss !  ” 
or  “  hush  !  ”  startled  him.  He  looked  round,  but  nothing  was 
seen— not  even  a  bat,  or  owl  flitting  athwart  the  upper  dark¬ 
ness. 

Recovering  from  his  surprise,  Peter  concluded  he  had  been 
deceived,  and  plied  his  chisel  with  fresh  vigor.  In  a  few 
minutes,  however,  the  ominous  word  was  again  audible.  He 
once  more  searched,  but  in  vain,  for  the  cause  of  so  uncommon 
a  sound ;  and,  being  at  length  terrified,  was  about  to  quit 
the  church  when  a  sense  of  duty  withheld  him,  and  he  renewed 
his  work,  which  was  completed  as  the  clock  struck  twelve. 
While,  with  downcast  head,  intently  examining  the  epitaph  he 
had  cut,  the  dreadful  word,  “  hush !  ”  came  louder  than  ever 
on  his  ear.  Peter  was  now  fairly  appalled.  He  concluded 
that  he  himself  was  summoned  to  the  grave — that  in  fact  he 
had  been  carving  his  own  “  IIic  Jacet.”  Tottering  home  he 
went  to  bed,  but  could  not  sleep. 

Hext  morning  his  wife,  happening  to  observe  his  wig,  ex¬ 
claimed,  “  O,  Peter  !  what  hast  thou  been  doing  to  burn  all  the 
hair  off  one  side  of  thy  wig  ?  ” 

“  Ah,  God  bless  thee  !  ”  vociferated  the  stone  cutter,  jumping 
out  of  bed  ;  “  thou  hast  cured  me  with  that  word.” 

The  mysterious  midnight  sound  was  occasioned  by  the  friz¬ 
zling  of  Peter’s  wig,  as  it  accidentally  came  in  contact  with  the 
candle,  while  he  bent  over  his  work ;  and  the  discovery  thus 
made  afforded  many  a  jest  and  laugh.”  * 


*  “  Hone’s  Year-Book.” 


510 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


Somnambulism  appears  to  differ  from  dreaming  chiefly  in 
the  degree  in  which  the  bodily  functions  are  affected ;  in  the 
former  the  will  seems  to  control  the  body,  and  its  organs  are 
more  susceptible  of  the  mental  impressions.  The  incipient 
form  of  somnambulism  shows  itself  in  talking  in  sleep  :  this  is 
sometimes  a  dangerous  disease,  as  occasionally  the  most  impor¬ 
tant  secrets  are,  by  the  very  party  himself,  involuntarily  revealed 
— which  in  his  waking  moments  he  would  reserve  wdtli 
especial  care.  The  second  stage  of  the  phenomenon,  from 
which  indeed  it  derives  its  name,  is  that  of  walking  during 
sleep.  Numerous  remarkable  instances  of  sleep-walking  are  to 
be  met  with ;  one  of  the  most  singular  of  which  we  remember 
to  have  read,  years  ago,  was  that  of  a  certain  restless  youth, 
who,  so  impetuous  was  he  to  obey  the  impulse  of  his  noctur¬ 
nal  vision,  rushed  from  his  bed  to  the  street,  clad  only  in  the 
usual  drapery  of  the  dormitory,  and  was  found  pursuing  his 
route  in  the  London  streets  at  midnight,  till  some  humane 
guardian  of  a  policeman  startled  him  from  his  state  of  dreamy 
complacency,  and  remonstrated  with  him  as  to  the  paucity  of 
his  apparel,  etc. 

Dr.  Blacklock,  the  blind  poet,  on  one  occasion,  arose  from 
his  bed,  to  which  he  had  retired  at  an  early  hour,  came  into 
the  room  where  his  family  were  assembled,  conversed  with 
them,  and  afterward  entertained  them  with  a  pleasant  song ; 
after  lie  awoke  he  had  not  the  least  knowledge  or  recollection 
of  what  lie  had  done. 

Two  instances  of  sleep-swimming  might  be  mentioned.  “  I 
went  out,”  says  Franklin,  “  to  bathe  in  Martin’s  salt-wrater  hot- 
batli,  in  Southampton,  and,  floating  on  my  back,  fell  asleep, 
nearly  an  hour  by  my  watch,  without  sinking  or  turning — a 
thing  I  never  did  before,  and  should  hardly  have  thought 
possible.”  A  man  was  disporting  himself  in  the  water  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  shore ;  he  was  discovered  by  the 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


511 


watchmen  at  two  o’clock  in  the  morning.  The  revenue  boat’s 
crew  pushed  off  and  succeeded  in  rescuing  him :  but,  strange 
to  say,  he  had  no  idea  of  his  perilous  situation,  and  it  was  a 
hard  matter  to  persuade  him  that  he  was  not  in  his  bed.  The 
man  had  left  his  home  at  midnight,  and  walked  through  a 
difficult  and  to  him  dangerous  road  over  two  miles,  and  had 
actually  swam  more  than  a  mile  before  he  was  picked  up.* 

Dr.  Abercrombie  relates  some  curious  instances  of  persons 
having  performed  literary  exploits  during  a  state  of  somnolency ; 
among  others  he  speaks  of  a  certain  member  of  a  foreign  uni¬ 
versity,  who,  after  having  devoted  himself  during  his  waking 
hours  to  the  composition  of  some  verses,  which,  however,  he 
had  not  been  able  to  complete,  seems  to  have  been  honored 
with  more  success  in  a  visitation  from  his  muse  during  his 
nocturnal  slumbers ;  for  the  following  night  he  arose  in  his 
sleep,  finished  his  poetic  performance,  and  exulting  in  his  suc¬ 
cess  returned  again  contentedly  to  his  couch — all  in  a  state  of 
unconsciousness. 

Take  another  case,  from  the  same  source:  it  is  one  even 
more  remarkable — and  we  might  add  a  tax  upon  credulity 
were  it  not  given  by  so  respectable  an  authority.  It  is  that  of  a 
young  botanical  student  who  resided  at  the  house  of  his  profes¬ 
sor  in  London,  and  who  was  zealously  devoted  to  his  pursuit, 
having  indeed  just  received  the  highest  botanical  prize  from 
a  public  institution.  One  night,  about  an  hour  after  he  had 
gone  to  bed,  having  returned  from  a  long  botanical  excursion, 
his  master,  who  was  sitting  in  his  room  below,  heard  a  person 
coming  down  stairs  with  a  heavy  measured  step,  and  on  going 
into  the  passage  found  his  pupil  with  nothing  on  him  but  his 
hat  and  his  shirt,  his  tin  case  swung  across  his  shoulders,  and  a 
large  stick  in  his  hand.  “  His  eyes  were  even  more  open  than 


*  Macnish. 


512 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


usual,”  says  the  narrator,  “  but  I  observed  he  never  directed 
them  to  me  or  to  the  candle  which  I  held.  While  I  was  con¬ 
templating  the  best  method  of  getting  him  to  bed  again,  he 
commenced  the  following  dialogue  :  £  Are  you  going  to  Green¬ 
wich,  sir  V  6  Yes,  sir.’  £  Going  by  water,  sir  ?  ’  c  Y es,  sir.’  ‘  May 
I  go  with  you,  sir  ?  ’  ‘  Yes,  sir ;  but  I  am  going  directly,  there¬ 

fore  please  to  follow  me.’  Upon  this  I  walked  up  to  his  room, 
and  he  followed  me  without  the  least  error  in  stepping  up  the 
stairs.  At  the  side  of  his  bed,  I  begged  he  would  get  into  the 
boat,  as  I  must  be  off  immediately.  I  then  removed  the  tin 
case  from  his  shoulders,  his  hat  dropped  off,  and  he  got  into 
bed,  observing,  6  he  knew  my  face  very  well — he  had  often 
seen  me  at  the  river’s  side.’  A  long  conversation  then  ensued 
between  him  and  the  supposed  boatman,  in  which  he  understood 
all  that  was  said  to  him,  and  answered  quite  correctly  respect¬ 
ing  botanical  excursions  to  Greenwich  made  by  the  professor 
and  his  pupils ;  and  named  a  rare  plant  he  had  lately  had,  of 
which  the  superintendent  of  the  botanic  garden  had  seen  only 
one  specimen  in  his  life,  and  the  professor  only  two.  After 
some  further  conversation,  he  was  asked  whether  he  knew  who 
had  gained  the  highest  botanical  prize ;  when  he  named  a 
gentleman,  but  did  not  name  himself.  ‘  Indeed,’  was  the  re¬ 
ply,  4  did  he  gain  the  highest  prize  ?  ’  To  this  he  made  no  answer. 

He  was  then  asked,  ‘  Do  you  know  Mr. - ,’  naming  himself. 

After  much  hesitation  lie  replied,  ‘  If  I  must  confess  it,  my  name 

is - .’  This  conversation  lasted  three-quarters  of  an  hour, 

during'  which  time  he  never  made  an  irrelevant  answer,  and 
never  hesitated,  excepting  about  the  prize  and  his  own  name. 
He  then  lay  down  in  bed,  saying  ‘  he  was  tired,  and  would  lie 
upon  the  grass  till  the  professor  came  ;  ’  but  he  soon  sat  up  again 
and  held  a  long  conversation  with  another  gentleman  who  then 
came  into  the  room ;  when  he  again  understood  everything 
that  was  said  to  him,  to  which  he  answered  no  less  readily  and 


SLEEP  AXD  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


513 


accurately,  sometimes  uttering  long  sentences  without  the  least 
hesitation.  After  a  conversation  of  about  an  hour,  he  said,  4  It 
is  very  cold  on  this  grass,  but  I  am  so  tired  I  must  lie  down.5 
He  soon  after  laid  down  and  remained  quiet  during  the  rest  of 
the  night.  Kext  morning  he  had  not  the  least  knowledge  of 
what  had  passed,  and  was  not  even  aware  of  having  dreamed  of 
anything  whatever.’5 

Psychologists  tell  us  that  somnambulism  is  “  a  condition  in 
which  certain  senses  and  faculties  are  suppressed,  or  rendered 
thoroughly  impassive,  while  others  prevail  in  most  unwonted 
exaltation.'5 

The  phenomenon  resembles  in  part  what  sometimes  occurs  in 
reading ;  when  we  continue  reading  with  our  mind  diverted 
to  some  other  subject.  All  cases  of  absence  of  mind  belong  to 
this  category.  It  is  the  opinion  of  some  writers  that  the  brain 
cannot  entertain  two  distinct  ideas  simultaneously :  it  cannot 
think  and  determine  at  the  same  moment  of  time. 

Those  somnambulists  who  wander  about  in  streets,  or  (like 
Amina,  in  Bellini’s  opera)  walk  along  narrow  planks  in  peril¬ 
ous  situations,  have  the  muscular  sense,  whatever  it  may  be, 
effectively  awake.  The  sense  of  fear  is  asleep,  whatever  else 
may  be  awake.  Some  somnambulists  start  off  while  asleep  to 
attend  to  their  regular  work,  though  under  very  irregular  cir¬ 
cumstances.  There  was  a  rope-maker  in  Germany  who  often 
fell  asleep  when  at  work,  and  either  continued  his  work  in  a 
proper  way,  or  uselessly  re-made  cordage  already  finished. 
Sometimes  when  walking  long  distances  he  was  similarly  over¬ 
taken  with  sleep ;  he  went  on  safely,  avoiding  horses  and 
carriages,  and  timber  lying  in  the  road.  On  one  occasion  he 
fell  asleep  just  as  he  got  on  horseback ;  yet  he  went  on, 
rode  through  a  shallow  river,  allowed  his  horse  to  drink,  drew 
up  his  legs  to  prevent  his  feet  from  being  wetted,  passed 

through  a  crowded  market-place,  and  arrived  safely  at  the 
33 


514 


SLEEP  AXD  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


house  of  an  acquaintance  ;  his  eyes  were  closed  the  whole  time, 
and  he  awoke  just  after  reaching  the  house. 

Some  of  our  readers  may  not  be  familiar  with  the  legend  of 
the  beautiful  opera  La  Sonnambula ,  and  as  our  artist  has 
portrayed  the  heroine  of  the  story,  we  present  a  brief  outline 
of  the  plot. 

A  certain  nobleman  visiting  his  estates  in  Switzerland,  but 
unrecognized  by  the  peasantry,  stopped  at  an  inn  where  he  was 
told  that  a  ghost  haunted  the  house  nightly,  to  the  terror  of  the 
villagers.  Betiring  to  the  room  prepared  for  him,  about  mid¬ 
night  he  is  startled  by  the  somnambulist  Amina,  a  village-maiden 
who  is  betrothed  to  Elvino  ;  she  enters  his  room  in  her  night- 
dress,  and  is  discovered  by  the  peasantry,  to  the  detriment  of 
her  reputation  and  the  dismay  of  her  lover.  The  following 
night,  however,  the  mystery  is  explained — when  Amina  is  seen 
to  repeat  her  nocturnal  visit  at  the  inn,  emerge  from  it  with 
her  candle  in  hand,  and  pursue  ter  way  over  a  dilapidated  and 
deserted  bridge  at  the  imminent  risk  of  her  life.  The  bridge 
breaks  down,  but  she  makes  a  miraculous  leap  over  the  chasm, 
and  the  intense  fright  awakening  her,  the  erratic  wanderings 
of  the  maiden  are  at  once  accounted  for.  The  lovers  are  then 
married,  the  nobleman  gives  the  dowry,  and  the  village  is  again 
restored  to  its  wonted  peace  and  happiness. 

In  Poyntz’s  World  of  Wonders ,  we  find,  among  other 
remarkable  citations,  the  following  instance  recorded  of  an 
accomplished  somnambulist,  the  circumstances  of  which  are 
attested  by  a  beneficed  member  of  the  Boman  Catholic  Church : 
‘  In  the  college  where  he  was  educated  was  a  young  seminarist 
who  habitually  walked  in  his  sleep,  and  while  in  a  state  of 
somnambulism  used  to  sit  down  to  his  desk  and  compose  the 
most  eloquent  sermons  ;  scrupulously  erasing,  effacing,  or  inter¬ 
lining,  whenever  an  incorrect  expression  had  fallen  from  his 
pen.  Though  his  eyes  were  apparently  fixed  upon  the  paper 


SLEEP  AXD  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


515 


when  he  wrote,  it  was  clear  that  they  exercised  no  optical 
functions ;  for  he  wrote  just  as  well  when  an  opaque  sub¬ 
stance  was  interposed  between  them  and  the  sheet  of  paper. 
Sometimes  an  attempt  was  made  to  remove  the  paper,  in  the 
idea  that  he  would  write  upon  the  desk  beneath.  But  it  was 
observed  that  he  instantly  discerned  the  change,  and  sought 
another  sheet  of  paper  as  nearly  as  possible  resembling  the 
former  one.  At  other  times  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  was  substi¬ 
tuted  by  the  bystanders  for  the  one  on  which  he  had  been 
writing ;  in  which  case,  on  reading  over,  as  it  were,  his  compo- 
sition,  he  was  sure  to  place  the  corrections,  suggested  by  the 
perusal,  at  precisely  the  same  intervals  they  would  have  oc¬ 
cupied  in  the  original  sheet  of  manuscript.  This  young  priest, 
moreover,  was  an  able  musician  ;  and  was  seen  to  compose 
several  pieces  of  music  while  in  a  state  of  somnambulism, 
drawing  the  lines  of  the  music-paper  for  the  purpose  with  a 
ruler,  and  pen  and  ink,  and  filling  the  spaces  with  his  notes 
with  the  utmost  precision,  besides  a  careful  adaptation  of  the 
words  in  vocal  pieces.  On  one  occasion  the  somnambulist 
dreamed  that  he  sprang  into  the  river  to  save  a  drowning  child ; 
and  on  his  bed  he  was  seen  to  imitate  the  movement  of  swim¬ 
ming.  Seizing  the  pillow,  he  appeared  to  snatch  it  from  the 
waves  and  lay  it  on  the  shore.  The  night  was  intensely  cold  ; 
and  so  severely  did  he  appear  affected  by  the  imaginary  chill 
of  the  river  as  to  tremble  in  every  limb  ;  and  his  state  of  cold 
and  exhaustion,  when  roused,  was  so  alarming,  that  it  was 
judged  necessary  to  administer  wine  and  other  restoratives.” 

A  case  is  related  of  a  woman  in  Edinburgh  Infirmary,  who 
during  her  paroxysms  not  only  mimicked  the  manner  of  her 
medical  attendants,  but  repeated  correctly  some  of  their  pre¬ 
scriptions  in  Latin.  A  yet  more  singular  instance  of  the  kind 
is  on  record,  described  by  Dr.  Dyce,  of  Aberdeen,  namely,  that 
of  a  young  girl  subject  to  fits  of  somnolency,  during  which  she 


516 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


was  in  the  habit  of  talking  of  things  that  seemed  to  pass  be¬ 
fore  her  like  a  dream,  and  was  not  at  the  time  sensible  of  any¬ 
thing  that  was  said  to  her.  At  one  time  she  would  lay  out 
the  table  for  breakfast,  and  repeatedly  dress  herself  and  the 
children,  all  the  while  being  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness. 

The  memory  plays  some  strange  tricks  with  sleep-walkers. 
A  military  officer,  after  a  hard  day  of  much  marching  and 
little  eating,  was  told  that  there  would  be  some  hot  soup  ready 
at  midnight ;  he  threw  himself  down  to  rest,  requesting  to  be 
called  at  the  supper  hour ;  next  morning  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  fact’  that  he  had  really  been  called,  and  had  really  had  his 
share  of  the  soup.  The  two  portions  of  sleep  had  been  welded 
together  in  his  mind,  and  he  was  not  conscious  of  the  interval 
that  had  separated  them.  Doctor  Abercrombie  notices  the 
case  of  a  woman  who  carried  on  a  somnambulistic  conversation 
in  a  remarkable  way.  She  would,  when  asleep,  relate  events 
of  the  preceding  day  (like  the  young  lady  mentioned  in  a  for¬ 
mer  paragraph),  with  this  peculiarity — that  she  repeated  every¬ 
thing  which  she  herself  had  said,  but  “  regularly  left  intervals 
in  her  discourse  corresponding  to  the  periods  when  the  other 
party  was  supposed  to  be  speaking  ;  and  she  also  left  intervals 
between  different  conversations,  shorter  in  reality,  but  corre¬ 
sponding  in  relative  length  to  the  intervals  which  had,  in  fact, 
taken  place.”  She  repeated  in  her  sleep  nearly  everything 
which  she  had  uttered  during  the  day,  whether  good  or  bad, 
but  left  blank  spaces  of  time  for  everything  that  had  been  said 
to  her  by  other  persons.  She  was  scarcely  ever  known  to  re¬ 
peat  anything  that  she  had  read  ;  the  muscular  and  audible  act 
of  speaking  was  the  one  thing  that  reproduced  itself  in  this 
way. 

A  curious  case  occurred  at  Yauxhall,  London,  in  1843, 
which  is  related  by  a  recent  authority : #  “  A  servant  in  a  respect- 


*  Binns. 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


517 


able  family  got  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  cleaned  the  kit¬ 
chen,  the  knives  and  forks,  and  washed  the  dog.  The  latter, 
probably  not  relishing  such  copious  ablution  in  the  dark,  made 
direct  for  the  chamber  of  his  mistress,  awoke  her,  and,  by  some 
sagacious  intimations,  induced  her  to  search  for  the  servant, 
whom  she  forthwith  conducted  to  bed  without  her  beino' 

O 

awake.” 

“Well  may  sleep  present  us  fictions,  since  our  waking  moments  teem 
With  such  fanciful  convictions  as  make  life  itself  a  dream  ! 

Half  our  daylight  faith’s  a  fable, — sleep  disports  with  phantoms  too, 
Seeming,  in  their  turn,  as  stable  as  the  world  we  wake  to  view  !  ” 

Some  find  their  wits  much  keener  while  fast  asleep  than 
when  “  wide  awake.”  u  Mankind,”  says  a  quaint  writer,  “  are 
so  generally  indisposed  to  think,  that  such  drowsy  souls  really 
make  the  world  a  vast  dormitory.  The  heaven-appointed  des¬ 
tiny  under  which  they  are  placed  seems  to  protect  them  from 
reflection  ;  there  is  an  opium  sky  stretched  over  all  the  world 
which  continually  rains  soporifics.”  As  this  is  the  boasted  age 
of  progress,  sleepers  will  probably  be  aroused  by  the  din  of  the 
locomotive,  and  the  world  in  its  dotage  at  last  begin  to  think. 
Undue  indulgence  of  sleep  may  cheat  us  of  much  of  our  brief 
life  ;  but  the  listlessness  of  an  undisciplined  mind  may  accom¬ 
plish  as  great  a  wrong  upon  us,  and  with  as  wily  an  artifice. 

An  admonitory  paragraph  from  a  recent  homilist,  and  the 
reader  may  dream  over  our  dissertation,  if  found  to  be  suffi¬ 
ciently  soporific : 

“  The  mere  lapse  of  years  is  not  life.  To  eat,  drink,  and 
sleep  ;  to  be  exposed  to  darkness  and  the  light ;  to  pace  around 
in  the  mill  of  habit,  and  turn  the  wheel  of  wealth ;  to  make 
reason  our  book-keeper,  and  turn  thought  into  an  implement 
of  trade — this  is  not  life.  In  all  this  but  a  poor  fraction  of  the 
unconsciousness  of  humanity  is  awakened ;  and  the  sanctities 


518 


SLEEP  AND  ITS  MYSTERIES. 


still  slumber  which  make  it  most  worth  while  to  be.  Knowl¬ 
edge,  truth,  love,  beauty,  goodness,  faith,  alone  can  give  vital¬ 
ity  to  the  mechanism  of  existence ;  the  laugh  of  mirth  which 
vibrates  through  the  heart,  the  tears  which  freshen  the  dry 
wastes  within,  the  music  that  brings  childhood  back,  the  prayer 
that  calls  the  future  near,  the  doubt  which  makes  us  meditate, 
the  death  which  startles  us  with  mystery,  the  hardship  which 
forces  us  to  struggle,  the  anxiety  that  ends  in  trust — are  the  true 
nourishment  that  end  in  being.” 

u  Dreams  do  divide  our  being;  they  become 
A  portion  of  ourselves,  as  of  our  time, 

And  look  like  heralds  of  eternity ; 

They  pass  like  spirits  of  the  past — they  speak 
Like  sibyls  of  the  future  ;  they  have  power — 

The  tyranny  of  pleasure,  and  of  pain.” 


A  PUFF  AT  PARTING. 

Not  un frequently  the  after-thought,  that  suggests  the  post¬ 
script,  contains  the  most  important  item  of  the  whole  communi¬ 
cation  ;  however  this  may  prove  in  the  present  instance — our 
pen  seems  reluctant  to  resign  its  office,  without  a  few  words 
supplementary — a  brief  tete-a-tete  with  our  excellent  friends 
who  have  shared  our  literary  repast.  So,  with  permission,  we 
will  adjourn  for  a  short  season  to  our  domestic  divan,  and 
regale  ourselves  with  the  fragrant  aroma  of  that  soothing  seda¬ 
tive — the  weed.  Its  magic  power  to  cement  good  friendship 
and  to  foster  good-feeling  is  admitted  the  world  over,  from 
the  roving  red  men  of  the  West,  to  the  indolent  Turk  of  the 


520 


A  PUFF  AT  PARTING. 


East ;  it  cannot  fail,  therefore,  to  secure  ours — a  consummation 
devoutly  to  be  wished. 

A  great  dignitary  of  the  Church  once  remarked,  that  “  happi¬ 
ness  was  no  laughing  matter.”  We  agree  with  the  opinion ;  and 
as  friendship  and  happiness  are  next  of  kin,  we  do  not,  of 
course,  intend  to  trifle  with  so  serious  a  subject. 

“  A  companion  that  feasts  the  company  with  wit  and  mirth, 
and  leaves  out  the  sin  which  is  usually  mixed  with  them,  is 
the  man,”  said  worthy  Izaah  Walton  ;  who  adds:  “And  let 
me  tell  you,  good  company  and  good  discourse  are  the  very 
sinews  of  virtue.”  We  thank  this  genial  old  gentleman  for  de¬ 
fining  our  aim  and  position  so  well,  since  it  leaves  us  nothing 
further  to  urge  in  the  way  of  apology ;  so  now  let  us  talk  about 
the  witching  weed. 

Notwithstanding  the  fulminations  of  its  foes,  Tobacco — 
which  may  be  said  to  be  in  almost  everybody’s  mouth — can 
never  fail  to  be  a  favorite  resource  and  pastime  of  mankind. 
Yet  popular  as  it  is  at  present,  the  “  pipe  of  peace  ”  has  been  the 
occasion  of  much  discord  and  disputation,  in  past  times.  In 
1623  the  crusade  against  the  weed  was  headed  by  the  Pope 
himself,  who  thundered  his  anathema  of  excommunication 
against  all  smokers  ;  and  in  Turkey,  even,  smoking  was  a  capital 
crime.  In  Russia  the  weed  was  forbidden  to  be  used  under 
severe  penalties  ;  and  in  the  Canton  of  Berne  its  prohibition  was 
even  incorporated  with  the  Decalogue  !  The  “  plant  divine  ” 
has,  indeed,  passed  through  scenes  of  dire  persecution,  alike 
from  Pagan  and  Christian  powers:  yet,  notwithstanding  all 
their  opposition,  although  blackened  by  calumny,  the  pipes  have 
not  yet  been  put  out. 

“  0  Plant  divine, — 0  potent  plant ! 

Let  others  for  the  laurel-garland  pant — 

Content  with  my  rich  meed,  I'll  sit  me  down, 

Nor  ask  for  fame,  nor  heroes’  high  renown.” 


A  PUFF  AT  PARTING. 


521 


Tobacco  has  been  styled  “the  anodyne  of  poverty,”  while 
the  bowl  of  the  pipe  has  been  characterized  as  the  “  bowl  that 
cheers,  but  not  inebriates.”  A  writer  in  the  North  British 
Beview ,  referring  to  the  beneficial  influence  of  the  pipe,  re¬ 
marks,  that  “  much  angry  bitter  feeling  is  puffed  out  and  dis¬ 
sipated  with  the  fumes  of  the  tobacco.  On  the  whole,  there¬ 
fore,  the  pipe  is  not  an  offence,  but  a  protection  to  woman. 
Among  the  sunbeams  let  into  the  cottage,  not  the  least  is  the 
poor  man’s  pipe.”  The  pipe  is  also  one  great  medium  of  fra¬ 
ternization  ;  it  expands  the  heart  with  generous  emotions  and 
stimulates  the  mind  to  noble  and  earnest  thoughts.  The  man 
who  smokes  has  been  said  to  “think  like  a  sage,  and  to  act  like 
a  Samaritan  !  ”  Even  among  the  uncivilized,  the  Calumet  is 
the  accepted  symbol  of  peace  and  good-will :  let  not  the  pipe, 
then,  be  blackened  with  reproach  and  aspersion. 

“  Since  life  and  the  anxieties  that  share 
Our  hope  and  trust,  are  smoke  and  dust, 

Give  me  the  smoke  and  dust  that  banish  care  : 

The  rolled  leaf  bring 

Which,  from  its  ashes,  phoenix-like,  can  spring — 

The  fragrant  leaf,  whose  magic  balm 
Can,  like  Nepenthe,  all  our  sorrows  charm.” 

With  the  clubs  of  London  in  olden  times,  the  tobacco-box 
was  the  accepted  symbol  of  the  brotherhood.  We  have  a 
glimpse,  presented  to  us  at  the  head  of  our  chapter,  of  the 
jovial  scene,  in  which  the  long  clay  pipes  figure  so  conspicu¬ 
ously,  and  send  forth  such  clouds  of  fragrant  incense  to  genius 
and  good  fellowship. 

The  history  and  mystery  of  smoking  is  a  theme  of  imperish¬ 
able  interest ;  for  although  it  is  environed  by  a  somewhat  cloudy 
atmosphere,  it  nevertheless  is  associated  with  some  of  the  best 
feelings  of  our  nature,  and  the  best  specimens  of  humanity. 

“  So  you  see  the  drift,  sir,  you  take  it, — you  smoke  ?”  Fasci- 


522 


A  PUFF  AT  PARTING. 


nating,  indeed,  as  are  woman’s  ways  and  wiles,  to  lead  us  poor 
mortals  captive;  the  “ witching  weed ”  seems  to  possess  quite 
as  potent  a  charm  over  us.  Bulwer  Lytton  thus  compares 
these  two  magnetizing  powers :  u  lie  who  doth  not  smoke, 
hath  either  known  no  griefs,  or  refusetli  himself  the  softest 
consolation  next  to  that  which  comes  from  Heaven.  ‘  What 
softer  than  woman?’  whispers  the  young  reader.  Young 
reader  !  woman  teazes  us,  as  well  as  consoles  !  Woman  makes 
half  the  sorrows  she  boasts  the  privilege  to  console.  Woman 
consoles,  it  is  true,  while  we  are  young  and  handsome  ;  when 
we  are  old  and  ugly,  woman  snubs  and  scolds  us !  On  the 
whole,  then,  woman  in  this  scale,  and  the  weed  in  that,  Jupiter 
hang  out  thy  balance  and  weigh  them  both ;  and  if  thou  give 
the  preference  to  woman,  ail  I  can  say  is,  the  next  time  Juno 
ruffles  thee,  O  Jupiter,  try  the  weed  !  ” 

To  be  loyal  to  the  weed,  however,  does  not  necessarily  in¬ 
volve  the  repudiation  of  woman  ;  rather  let  us  do  fitting  hom¬ 
age  to  the  claims  of  both. 

Sir  Walter  Kaleigh  has  the  credit  of  having  introduced 
tobacco  into  England  in  1585  ;  but  some  authorities  claim  the 
honor  for  Sir  Francis  Drake.  Jean  Kicot,  the  French  ambas¬ 
sador  at  Portugal,  sent  some  specimens  of  the  herb  as  a  present 
to  Catherine  de  Medici.  Its  botanical  name  is  derived  from 
this  incident ;  and  its  popular  name,  tobacco,  is,  according  to 
Humboldt,  from  the  Haytien  name  for  the  pipe  or  instrument 
the  natives  used  for  smoking  the  herb.  . 

Besides  the  “  Counterblast  ”  of  King  James,  there  were  some 
hundred  other  treatises**  and  among  them  one  by  Sylvestre,  in 
1641,  so  quaint  that  we  give  the  title :  “  Tobacco  battered,  and 
the  pipes'  shattered,  about  their  ears,  that  idolize  so  base  and 
barbarous  a  weed,  or  at  least-wise  overlove  so  loathsome  a 
vanitie,”  etc.  Another  authority,  Burton ,  in  his  “  Anatomie  of 
Melancholie  ”  designates  it  “  The  divine,  rare,  superexcellent 


A  PUFF  AT  PARTING. 


523 


tobacco,  which  goes  far  beyond  all  the  panaceas,  portable  gold 
and  philosopher’s  stone, — a  sovereign  remedy  for  all  diseases,” 
etc.  We  owe  something,  indeed,  to  those  early  defenders  of  the 
pipe,  and  the  liberty  of  smoking  which  they  have  bequeathed 
to  ns. 

“  Let  who  will  rave, — we  smokers  know  thy  worth  ; 

Our  classic  wits  have  sung  tobacco’s  praise, 

And  given  to  many  a  page  of  wisdom  birth, 

Beneath  thine  argent  clonds  and  ruby  rays  ! 

Full  many  a  charm,  my  pipe,  I’ve  found  in  thee, — 

Thou  healing  balm, — thou  mithridatic  weed  ! 

From  foul  aspersion  not  to  set  thee  free, — 

Had  been  a  black  ingratitude  indeed  !” 

Among  the  illustrious  fraternity  of  smokers  we  find  a  galaxy 
of  great  names,  such  as  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  Sir  Henry  Wotton, 
Izaak  Walton,  Napoleon,  Johnson,  Milton,  and  hosts  of  others 
whose  names  are  on  the  scroll  of, fame.  Dr.  Parr,  an  octo¬ 
genarian,  smoked,  it  is  said,  sometimes  a  score  of  pipes  a 
day  !  One  day  dining  at  a  friend’s  house,  he  made  signals  to 
his  host  for  a  pipe.  “  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,”  interposed 
the  lady  of  the  house,  “  but  I  cannot  permit  smoking  in  my 
drawing-room.”  “  Why  not,  madam  ?  ”  responded  the  discom¬ 
forted  doctor ;  “  I  have  smoked  a  pipe  with  my  sovereign !  ” 
“  Notwithstanding  that,  sir,  I  never  will  allow  my  rooms  to  be 
defiled  with  the  nauseous  smell  of  tobacco,”  was  the  rejoinder. 
“Madam,” — “Sir,” — “Madam,  you  are,” — quickly  echoed 
through  the  apartments.  “  I  hope,  sir,  you  will  not  express  any 
rudeness,”  said  the  inexorable  lady,  when  the  former,  raising 
his  voice  to  full  concert  pitch,  cried  out,  “  Madam,  you  are  the 
greatest  tobacco-stopper  in  all  England  !  ”  Charles  Lamb  was 
a  confirmed  smoker,  yet  he  determined  to  give  it  up,  and  so  he 
wrote  his  “  Farewell  to  Tobacco.”  “  I  have  had  it  in  my  head,” 
he  wrote  to  Wordsworth,  “  to  write  this  poem  these  two  years  ; 


524 


A  PUFF  AT  PARTING. 


but  tobacco  stood  in  its  own  light  when  it  gave  me  headaches 
that  prevented  my  singing  its  praises.”  Dr.  Parr,  the  twenty- 
pipes  man,  once  asked  Lamb  how  he  acquired  so  prodigious  a 
smoking  power.  “  I  have  acquired  it,”  he  replied,  “  by  toiling 
after  it,  as  some  men  toil  after  virtue.”  Parr  made  the  cele¬ 
brated  Pobert  Hall  a  proselyte  to  the  pipe.  One  day  he 
surprised  his  friend  enveloped  with  a  cloudy  atmosphere,  and 
exclaimed,  “  Ah  !  I  find  you,  again,  at  your  old  idol.”  “  Yes,” 
said  Hall,  “  burning  it !  ” 

“  Than  my  homely,  oblivious  pipe,  I  find  no  greater  solace,” 
wrote  a  valetudinarian,  “  during  my  dark  hours  of  affiiction  !  ” 
What  would  become  of  the  weary  and  the  heavy-laden,  the 
oppressed  with  toil— the  mariner  at  sea,  or  the  soldier  on  the 
field  of  conflict — were  they  denied  the  solace  of  the  weed  ? 
Prince  Frederick  William,  of  Prussia,  it  is  said,  founded  a  kind 
of  College,  at  Berlin,  for  smoking  and  good  fellowship.  Apart 
from  its  positive  enjoyment,  the  pipe  or  cigar  is  often  an  im¬ 
portant  aid  to  our  social  intercourse  ;  for  are  there  not  often 
inextricable  dilemmas  and  perplexing  pauses  in  conversation 
which  the  parenthetical  puff  relieves  ? 

There  are  many  varieties  of  the  smoking  fraternity,  some 
smoke  mechanically,  and  from  fixed  habit,  without  much  enjoy¬ 
ment  of  the  pastime ;  while  others  linger  luxuriously  over 
their  weed,  and  surrender  themselves  to  all  its  intoxicating 
fascination.  These  are  they  who  exclaim,  Eureka,  to  a  choice 
Havana,  and  become  oblivious  to  everything  else. 

Of  all  classes  of  smokers  the  Turks  are  the  most  entitled  to 
consideration  and  gratitude  for  the  refinements  they  have 
blended  with  the  use  of  the  weed.  The  Turk  seems  most  to 
catch  its  deep  inspiration,  as  he  reclines  upon  his  velvet  otto¬ 
man,  and  inhales  the  fragrant  odors  of  the  leaf,  through  his 
rose-scented  chibook.  He  looks  the  very  impersonation  of 
luxurious  indolence — he  is  most  prodigal  of  his  time  in  the 


A  PUFF  AT  PARTING. 


525 


ndulgence  of  a  pastime  which  has  indeed  become  a  passion — 
Dut  possibly  he  has  nothing  else  to  do. 

Thus  much,  then,  pertaining  to  pipes  and  their  patrons  J  a 
word  or  two,  now,  touching  snuff-taking ;  which  took  its  rise 
during  the  reign  of  Louis  XI V,,  when  even  ladies  attached  to 
the  court  of  that  monarch  indulged  in  its  use.  Imagine  the 
advanced  minds  of  the  fair  sex — the  belles  “  of  the  period  ” — 
snuffing — “ up  to  snuff”!  For  the  rougher  sex  it  may  be  all 
very  well,  and  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  Many  an  old-time  notability 
indeed  took  snuff,  and  plenty  of  it.  Lamb  pays  tribute  thus  : 

“  Roses,  violets,  are  but  toys 
For  the  smaller  sort  of  boys, 

Or  for  greener  damsels  meant ; 

Snuff,  thou’rt  the  only  manly  scent !  ” 

In  former  times  the  tobacconists  of  England  used  to  display 
their  wit  on  their  envelopes ;  they  also  used  signs  on  which 
they  attempted  the  facetious.  A  tobacconist  who  lived  on  Tower 
hill,  named  Farr,  put  the  following  notice  over  his  shop :  “ The 
best  tobacco  by  Farr!”  A  short  time  afterward  appeared  a 
rival,  who  opposed  him,  with  “  Better  tobacco  than  the  best 
tobacco  by  Farr  !  ” 

Let  this  suffice,  then,  touching 

“  That  glorious  weed, 

Dear  to  mankind,  whate’er  his  race,  his  creed, 

Condition,  color,  dwelling,  or  degree ; 

From  Zembla’s  snows  to  parched  Arabia’s  sands, 

Loved  by  all  lips,  and  common  to  all  hands ! 

Hail,  sole  cosmopolite  !  Tobacco,  hail !  ” 

Having  thus  reached  the  climax  of  our  fragrant  and  volatile 
subject — the  “  plant  divine  ”■ — that  sweet,  oblivious  antidote  to 
grief  and  care — we  take  our  leave  of  it,  with  the  conviction, 
that  bewitching  as  is  its  aroma,  yet,  unlike  our  Salad ,  it  all 
ends  in  smoke !  , 


526 


A  PUFF  AT  PARTING. 


True,  the  one  is  most  fascinating  to  the  olfactory  nerve,  but 
the  other  flatters  and  felicitates  the  palate.  The  one  is  ethe¬ 
real  and  impalpable ;  the  other  substantial,  real.  The  first  is 
undoubtedly  very  seductive  and  delicious ;  but  the  latter  may 
stand  the  test  that  ITomer  is  said  to  have  claimed  for  true  poetry 
— that,  ten  times  repeated,  it  should  still  please.  So,  gentle 
critics,  in  applying  that  test,  wheresoever  generosity  may  prompt, 
please  to  remember,  that  notes  of  admiration  as  well  as  kindly 
criticism  will  be  strictly  in  order.  Farewell. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


Recently  published,  a  new,  revised  edition,  small  8vo,  cloth,  extra,  $2.50. 

EVENINGS  WITH  THE  SACRED  POETS: 

A  SERIES  OF  QUIET  TALKS  ABOUT  THE  SEYGERS 

AYD  THEIR  SOYGS. 

By  the  Author  of 

“Salad  for  the  Solitary  and  the  Social,”  “Festival  of 

Song,”  etc. 

‘  ‘  Mr.  Saunders,  whose  ‘  Salad  for  the  Solitary  and  the  Social  ’  has  de¬ 
lighted  thousands  of  homes  and  readers,  has  just  prepared  ‘  Evenings  with 
the  Sacred  Poets,’  and  his  exquisite  taste,  extensive  reading,  and  rare  famil¬ 
iarity  with  bibliography,  shine  in  these  elegant  pages.  He  roams  through  all 
the  realms  of  Poesy,  from  the  earliest  times  to  our  own ;  wanders  among  all 
nations  and  through  all  climes,  culling  the  sweetest  flowers  and  giving  us  all 
the  most  brilliant  gems  of  Song.  It  is  a  book  to  be  kept  near  at  hand,  for 
refreshment  and  strength,  for  comfort  and  joy;  and  when  once  read  is  all  the 
more  attractive  to  be  read  again.” — New  York  Observer. 

“This  volume  does  something  more  than  string  together  a  number  of  pieces 
of  poetry  more  or  less  known  :  the  author  has  evidently  brought  considerable 
research  and  study  to  the  task  of  presenting  a  complete  picture  of  the  sacred 
poetry  and  hymnology  of  the  Christian  ages.  Altogether,  we  know  of  no 
selection  of  sacred  poetry  so  suitable  for  Sunday  reading  as  this.  Yot  the 
least  of  its  merits  is  that  it  is  not  likely  to  become  tiresome,  for  the  comments 
of  the  author  give  it  freshness  and  variety.  ”  — N.  Y.  Times. 

“  To  the  general  reader  it  will  afford  at  once  instruction  and  gratification, 
and  will  be  an  acceptable  addition  to  the  libraries  of  innumerable  families  to 
whom  a  work  of  greater  learning  and  labor  would  be  uninteresting.  ” — London 
Saturday  Review. 

“  The  requisites  for  the  proper  execution  of  such  a  task  as  this  are  good 
taste  and  large  research,  and  these  are  abundantly  manifested  in  the  volume.” 
— N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

“  The  work  displays  a  full  mastery  of  the  field,  a  fine  critical  power,  and  a 
catholic  and  evangelical  spirit.” — Methodist  Quarterly  Review. 

“  There  are  nearly  four  hundred  personal  sketches  of  poets,  and  among 
them  the  favorites  of  all.” — Northern  Christian  Advocate. 

“It  is  a  thesaurus  of  sacred  treasures  that  should  be  in  every  cultivated 
Christian  household.” — Newark  Courier. 


